


Sick Heart

by Fearful_little_thing



Series: Sick Heart [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Derek Hale as a teenager, Good Peter Hale, HaleCest, M/M, Parenting mistakes, Peter Hale might be a psychopath, Psychological Trauma, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Talia was not a bad alpha, True Mates, Unreliable Narrator, Werewolf Culture, mentions of Kate Argent, mentions of bullying, the Hale Fire still happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-01-22 17:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21306155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fearful_little_thing/pseuds/Fearful_little_thing
Summary: AKA 'How not knowing that true mates is a thing can really fuck you up'Peter had always known he was a little messed up, but it wasn't until his nephew came along that things really started going sideways. He knows there's something seriously wrong with him and he knows his sister would never forgive him if she knew, but he just can't make himself stop thinking about it. About what it could be like if only Derek was older... and, you know, not a blood relative.Peter's mind is against him, his heart can't seem to stop wanting, and every time he tries to fix things it only winds up getting worse.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Peter Hale
Series: Sick Heart [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615369
Comments: 26
Kudos: 158





	1. Chapter One - Formative Years

**Author's Note:**

> This has been knocking about in my head for years. Years. It's what happens when you combine the soulmate/true mates trope with 'meeting your soulmate too early' and also 'not even knowing that soulmates are a thing'. I'm happy to answer questions, especially since there's a lot going on in the background and I know I don't always make everything clear right away.
> 
> Also – the character death tag is in reference to canonical events which still happen, it does not mean that I'll be killing off anyone else.

There was a legend told in the oral tradition of the wolves about something almost like a soulmate. Some stories called them that – soulmates – some called them 'true mates', but the story Talia's mother had told her when she was young had called them heart mates. Because the heart wants blindly. She hadn't understood that as a little girl.

When Talia was little her mother described heart mates as the truest potential for love. Two people, not always wolves, who were so perfect for one another that it was as if they were intrinsically linked. It was like a fairytale. True love's kiss and happily ever after... Except not for everyone. Because the world was very big and heart mates weren't always born close enough to find one another.

“Then how do I know if I have one?” Talia had asked. “What if I meet my heart mate and I don't know it?”

“You'd know it, love.”

“But how?”

“Because you'd just know, Talia,” her mother had told her with a warm smile, “deep in your heart, you'd know. But there's a test an emissary can do, if you need to be sure.”

“Why would I need to be sure if you said I'd just know?” Talia had questioned, eight years old at the time and stubbornly curious about absolutely everything.

“Maybe they'd be from another pack, maybe a rival. Maybe they're a human and your alpha needed to know for certain it was safe to tell them about our secret, hm?”

A quantifiable fairytale. It had been a nice thought.

The story changed a little as Talia got older, gaining detail that before she'd been a little bit too young to understand. The older she got, the more she saw it as maybe a kind of wishful thinking – a werewolf fable, or a parable of some kind about ways to make inter-pack relationships more palatable to territorial alphas.

Then her mother met her heart mate, and Talia got to see the quantifiable proof herself. Their emissary confirmed it. Her mother and Dave the electrician married almost immediately and two weeks later Talia suddenly had a stepfather. Nine months after that she had a baby brother. Seventeen years old and she finally had a sibling.

Dave was nice enough. He was a human, and unwilling to take a gamble on the bite. He made her mother happy, which was enough for Talia to like him even in the face of horrible off-pitch shower singing and embarrassing dad jokes. Their happiness was enough to make Talia wish to meet her own heart mate in a way she hadn't since she was little.

Until suddenly one day she was standing in the foyer of a funeral home, tallying up the costs for a joint funeral and deciding between burial and cremation. Twenty-three years old and suddenly she was alpha to a pack made up of a handful of cousins she'd barely seen more than once a year while she'd been away at college.

Sole guardian to her four year old brother.

Dave had died in a car accident. He'd been alone. His car had hydroplaned and skidded off the road into a tree during a light rain. He'd broken his neck, the doctors had said.

Talia's mother had been dry-eyed. She'd thanked them. She'd left Talia's brother in the care of her sister. She'd shot herself in the head with Dave's hunting rifle, unable to bear the thought of living without him.

Talia had known she was dead the second the alpha spark had passed on to her.

She'd had two children, a pack, people who loved and care about her – and she'd killed herself. Her mother, the strongest woman Talia had ever known. So much else to live for and she'd died because of her heart mate.

Suddenly Talia didn't want a heart mate of her own anymore.

And, she decided then and there, looking down at her poor baby brother and seeing the way he looked so lost, she would never tell Peter the story about a wolf's heart mate. She would never tell him the real reason their mother died. She was his alpha now, and she would protect him with everything she had.

Even if it meant keeping a few things from him to spare him some pain when he was older. After all, if he never knew what might be out there he wouldn't wait for it. He'd grow up and find love, or not, and never have to worry about heart mates or true mates or soulmates.

-

_You're going to be an uncle, Petey. Do you know what that is...?_

_An uncle is when you're a boy and your sister has a baby. And I'm your sister and I'm going to have a baby, see? You're going to have a little niece or a nephew soon!_

_No, honey, we've talked about this before. I'm your sister. Your mother was my mother. I'm not your mommy._

_Yes, I'm your alpha. I'm Julie's alpha too, and Robert's, and Jonathan's, and Camille's …_

_You're six years old, Peter. You were four when mom died. Do you remember her at all? See, look, this was her. You remember her don't you?_

_That's sweet, honey, but I don't want you calling me your mommy. I'm your sister._

_Don't – no, don't cry..._

_Peter!_

_We don't slam doors in the house, Peter!_

-

In retrospect, of course, the warning signs were all there. Outwardly as well as inwardly if he were being honest with himself – and with himself at least he was always honest. Lies were for other people, being delusional or self-aggrandising wouldn't bring him anything but trouble. In his head he could be honest. In his head nobody would slash him to ribbons for touching things he shouldn't, or people he shouldn't. His sister wasn't psychic, just shrewd after literally having raised him.

He was antisocial, had difficulty relating to others (especially his peers), and sometimes suffered from a severe lack of empathy.

According to the school guidance officer he was potentially classified as a 'troubled youth'.

But, really, a little trouble was to be expected when you were raised by a much-older sibling who decided to start having children by all different fathers only a couple of years after your parents died. When you were_ four_, by the way.

Though that was unfair, Peter mused. She'd only had the three children so far, and only one of them had really caused him any grief. The one of them he was currently hiding from up here in the second upstairs bathroom. The one that made him think about warning signs and being slashed to ribbons and (maybe) sex offender registries.

_Laura_ was currently an annoying little shit of a preteen and _Cora_ was sticky, but otherwise not a problem. It was Derek who was the issue. A seven year old duckling with too-large eyebrows and a habit of making inconvenient announcements at dinner time.

“When I grow up I'm going to marry Uncle Peter,” the teen mimicked the boy's innocent little-boy voice under his breath, his cheeks and ears turning red as the words rocketed around his skull. “Jesus Christ.”

If he was lucky Talia would have been paying more attention to her son than to Peter's reaction to that little announcement. Thankfully Laura had chimed in with an appropriately condescending “you can't marry Uncle Peter, stupid” immediately after, so it was entirely possible that Talia had missed the way Peter's scent had changed while busy simultaneously scolding her eldest and attempting to explain to Derek why one couldn't marry family members.

Because for just a moment – before his brain had properly caught up – Peter had _wanted_. His heart had throbbed in the cage of his chest and he'd thought 'yes' and even 'why wait' and then he'd blinked and Derek was _seven_ and a boy and his _nephew_ god damn it.

Peter curled up tighter in the bathtub of the upstairs bathroom – fully dressed, hiding behind the shower curtain as if that would be any help at all in a house full of werewolves – and let his forehead knock against his knees.

It wasn't even as if it was sexual. He didn't want Derek in _that way_ (he thought). If it was just _that_ then he could probably go to therapy or something. If it was just that then presumably he'd have the same reaction to other little boys, and he didn't. It was just Derek. Only Derek.

Who followed him around like a duckling, looked at him like he hung the moon, and wanted to marry him because he didn't really understand what marriage was.

A sudden knock on the bathroom door startled him. He half-jumped, knocking his elbow against the side of the tub and nearly kicking a hole in the porcelain.

“It's just me,” Talia's voice called softly through the door, her tone pitched to be reassuring. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Peter sighed dramatically, sure he couldn't stop her even if he wanted to. “Why not?”

His sister opened the door and slipped through into the bathroom. Door shut again, she hopped up onto the counter and looked down at him with a sympathetic smile. “Kids say all sorts of things, Peter. You don't have to be embarrassed, you know. Poor Derek,” she chuckled, “apparently his teacher is getting married and she told the class that grown ups get married to the person they love the most, so... Congratulations. He loves you more than he loves his own mom.”

“Or someone in his class said they love their mom the most and she explained that much,” Peter muttered darkly, stubbornly looking at his knees and not his alpha just in case his eyes gave something away.

“Maybe so,” Talia shrugged. “All it means is that you're his favourite.”

“I figured.”

Talia nudged his shin with the toe of her foot, somehow keeping perfect balance. “So stop with the teenage dramatics and come out of the bathroom. Derek thinks you're mad at him.”

A stab of guilt made Peter's stomach clench uncomfortably. “I'm not mad,” he muttered, once again to his knees.

“Don't tell me that,” Talia responded, nudging him again, “tell him.”

Reluctantly, still not quite able to look his sister in the eye, Peter gave another dramatic sigh and climbed out of the bath. Talia pushed him out the door – a gentle shove to his back to get him moving in the right direction – and watched him expectantly until he grudgingly started down the hall towards Derek's room.

He could hear his nephew in there already, heartbeat and fidgets and a couple of barely-there sniffles that implied tears. A subtle sniff to the air brought the tang of sadness and Peter's guilt doubled, weighing down his shoulders into a despondent slump.

Derek was sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes red and puffy, his little feet bare and hanging listlessly. He looked up at Peter when the teen entered the room, his lower lip trembling. “Are you mad at me?”

Peter's chest squeezed tight. He hesitated, then sat down on the bed beside his nephew. “No. I'm not mad at you.”

“Then why did you run away?” Derek asked tremulously.

“Because...” _Because I want to marry you when you grow up. I want to marry you now so you're mine forever but your mother would kill me if she ever found out because she'd think that means I want to touch you in bad ways when all I want is to sleep in the same bed as you and hold you sometimes and make sure you're always smiling._

_No, god damn it_. That was way too much to explain to a child. Especially with his mother hovering around out in the hall somewhere.

“Because I was worried,” Peter explained, not even really lying. “I didn't want to be made fun of.”

Derek took a moment to think, brow furrowing slightly. “Like Laura made fun of me... She called me stupid.”

“You're not stupid. I'm stupid,” Peter said, “for running away.” He reached out and took Derek's hand in his, tiny fingers dwarfed by his own. “You're my favourite nephew, I shouldn't be worried about being made fun of around you.”

Derek smiled, giving Peter's hand a squeeze. “You're my favourite too,” he replied, then bit his lip. “Are you really not mad?”

“Oh, Derek. I could never be mad at you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” Peter said solemnly.

Derek pulled his hand free of Peter's grip and stood up, only to throw himself at his uncle in a ferocious hug. Skinny arms wound around Peter's neck in a grip that would be crushing if it belonged to an adult wolf. A smacking kiss to his ear momentarily deafened him, and then Derek's face was crushed against Peter's shoulder (probably dripping snot onto his shirt).

“I'll still marry you,” Derek whispered against the fabric, so muffled that Peter could barely make out what he said. “When I'm a grown up.”

Peter didn't acknowledge that he'd heard. He was too busy trying to keep his heartbeat under control.

-

_You know you can talk to me if you're having problems..._

_I know. I'm not accusing you of anything and I'm definitely not complaining about your behaviour at home, it's just... Look, Peter, your teacher said you're doing really well academically but that you're a bit withdrawn. She said you don't really play with the other kids or -_

_She didn't say you don't have any friends._

_No. Petey, honey, I'm not -_

_I know Caroline moved away. I thought you and Daniel were friends though? Ms Marshall told me you haven't been sitting together - …If something's going on at school..._

_Just... You can talk to me, alright? That's all I wanted to say._

-

The future was a tenuous thing.

Peter was a senior, and as such for the past year and half he'd had to sit through lecture after lecture about the future. Vocational tests, SAT preps, discussions of college applications. What did he want to do when he graduated? Which colleges did he want to apply to? What was his first choice? Did he have a back up plan? Was he prepared for this and that and blah blah blah...

The rest of his class had the whole of their lives ahead of them.

They could make mistakes, or take a year off to travel, or decide on a career and change their mind half way through their first semester of college if they wanted to. They had plenty of time. Even if their options were limited by finance, they had time on their hands.

Peter had until Talia kicked him out.

Or killed him. He couldn't forget that option. It was entirely possible that she would kill him rather than kick him out depending on what infraction it was that finally crossed the line.

It was only a matter of time. He knew that, because in the past year his feelings for Derek hadn't gone away. If anything they'd only gotten stronger. He was getting jealous of the kid's playdates for Christ's sake. He tried not to let his overt favouritism show too much, but there was only so much self control to be had.

So he had to plan accordingly.

He had to assume that if he remained in close proximity with his nephew his feelings would continue to fester. He had to assume that eventually, one day, he'd slip up and Talia would know. If it happened now then maybe he'd get away with simply being booted out of both family and pack – he hadn't done anything after all. But if it got to the point where Derek was a bit older... A handful of years and he'd be a teenager. He wouldn't look so much like a little boy anymore. He wouldn't smell like a little boy. And then Peter would really be in trouble.

Which meant he had to plan for independence.

And maybe legal defence?

A college somewhere across the country would help get him used to being without his pack. He'd be alone, able to get used to not having his alpha around or his nieces and nephew underfoot. He could use the time to establish connections, maybe send out some feelers for other packs he might join.

Financially, he would be fine in the long term. His share of the Hale fortune was in a trust that would be released to him when he turned twenty-one. In the meantime he would apply for student loans and see how far that could get him. The Vault had cash for emergencies, as well as a whole host of other valuables, and he was sure Talia wouldn't notice a few grand missing. If he picked up a part time job he'd be able to subsidise his living costs, which would lessen the blow if he was cut off before he got access to the trust.

And as for the other thing...

Well, he didn't hate learning facts, he loved a good debate, and his occasional lack of empathy wouldn't be much of a setback. He could get a law degree in five years if he picked the right courses and kept his grades high.

Peter applied for several colleges without Talia's knowledge. Then, because she was badgering him, applied to another couple to get her off his back. He jealously guarded the mailbox until he got his acceptances (and rejections) and picked the one with the best undergrad law program.

“I was accepted to New York State,” Peter told her, presenting her the paperwork he'd put together in a neat little stack on her desk. “It's not technically Ivy League, but their pre-law program is currently ranked fifth best in the country. I plan on applying to Harvard for the actual JP certification, but if I don't get in NYU has a decent enough law program itself. It's a three year course, followed by another two assuming I make the cut for the accelerated program. In five years I can be fully accredited.”

Talia looked at him, her face blank. He'd blindsided her, he knew. She just didn't want to show it. “Five years,” she repeated mildly, leafing through the small stack of papers in front of her. “That's a long time, Peter. It's a long time to be away from pack, or from family, especially when you'd be so far away.”

“I could come back for holidays,” Peter replied, giving her _a_ truth instead of an outright lie. “It's not as if we can't afford a few flights.”

“That's true,” Talia admitted mildly.

“There's also such a thing as phones,” Peter added, “and email. _You_ went away for college,” he pointed out a half-beat later.

“I went to Stanford,” Talia smiled wryly, “not to the other side of the country. You also hadn't been born yet when I left and our pack wasn't quite so close-knit. I'm not saying no, Petey,” she held up a finger to stop him interrupting. “I'm just saying I want to know you've really thought about this. Five years is a very long time to be away from everybody. I know you think you can handle it – maybe you can, maybe you'll be fine – I just don't want you to wind up miserable because you moved too far away for us to look out for you. It'll be bad the first year wherever you go, do you know that? You'll be living in a dorm with a roommate, stressed while you try to balance all of your classwork and forced to be on high alert so you don't give yourself away. It would be easier if you went to school somewhere closer.”

“Easier,” Peter agreed, giving her more of the truth, “but not what I want. I've thought about this, Tally. I'm not going into it lightly. I just... it's something that I want to do and I think it would be good for me.”

There. Not a single lie.

Talia gave him that smile again. That same one she'd been giving him for years – the 'Peter's being Peter again' smile that was partly fond and partly something else.

“I'll think about it,” she said finally.

And that was as close to yes as she'd come for that conversation.

-

She said yes two days later, in private in her study. He had her blessing, as both his sister and his alpha, to go to school in New York.

Then came the fussing. A process Peter had expected, but hadn't expected to be so _involved_. Talia helped him register for classes and fill out paperwork required by the school. She poked and prodded at him until he agreed to let her help set up a budget for him, and a monthly stipend when it turned out that he didn't qualify for any form of financial aid. (Talia called it the irony of being too well off, then poked fun at herself for complaining about having too much money.) Peter was fairly certain she'd even contacted the administration to try and alpha them into letting him room off-campus for his first year and subsequently been knocked back when her diplomatic intimidation methods proved less than effective over the phone.

She was even there for the outburst. The devastating upset that Peter should have seen coming when they finally got around to telling the kids that Uncle Peter would be going away for school.

He should have known. Derek's duckling ways hadn't changed in the last year either.

“I have some exciting news,” Talia had said that night over dinner, smiling across the table at everyone present. (All three kids, plus Camille and her toddler.) “You know how Uncle Peter is going to be in college next year?”

“Yeah?” Laura supplied the reply with all the contempt for the subject that an eleven (and a half) year old could reasonably muster. “We know.”

“Well it turns out he's going to be in New York,” Talia continued, serenely ignoring her eldest child's attitude. “Over-achiever that he is, he's decided to take pre-law at New York State, so we'll be seeing a little less of him than usual.”

“A lot less, I'd say,” Camille chuckled, deftly wiping sticky bits of carrot from her toddler's chin. “Congratulations, Peter.” She smiled at him. “Robert and I always did say if anyone was going to go away for college it'd be you.”

“New York?” Derek asked, staring firmly at Peter with eyes that had already started to look a little watery. “That's all the way on the other side of the country.”

“It is,” Peter agreed, fingers clenched around his knife and fork just a little tighter than they should be.

“So you're not going to come home for weekends like you could if you went to school close by,” Derek continued. “You're not going to be around at all except a couple times a year.”

“He'll be flying back for all the holidays,” Talia smiled brightly. “Won't you, Peter?”

“I'll do my best,” Peter agreed.

“You'll do your best,” Derek repeated, one fat tear wobbling at the edge of his lash line. “What if you don't come back at all? Are you just leaving!?”

“I'm going to college –“

“You're going away is where you're going!” Derek shouted. Suddenly he was standing. Eight years old and vibrating with anger, reeking of despair, eyes flickering with hints of beta-yellow. “You'll be leaving and I'll hardly ever see you!”

“Derek,” Talia started gently and then stopped, clearly not sure how to proceed.

Peter just sat there frozen, pinned to his chair by the force of Derek's stare. He wanted to answer the boy, wanted to tell him that it'd be okay, that he'd never leave, that he loved Derek more than absolutely anything in the whole world and if Derek didn't want him to go then he'd stay just for him...

But he couldn't. He ground his teeth together so none of the words could come out.

He couldn't say a word. Couldn't risk letting anything slip.

Not in front of Talia.

Derek stared at him a moment longer, just long enough for Peter to see his face crumple into tears before the boy ran. He could hear Derek's footsteps – through the den, up the stairs, down the hall – and then the slam of a bedroom door.

“Well,” Camille said after a long and pregnant pause. “That went well.”

It was unholy torture not to go after Derek. Instead Peter let Talia murmur a soft “I'll go talk to him” and stayed exactly where he was. He didn't strain to try and listen in on what was said, just mechanically ate what was left on his plate and took his dishes into the kitchen. He was on autopilot for the rest of the evening, a cold knot of despair sitting tight in his gut the whole while.

And it didn't get easier.

The next few days were silent hell. Whatever Talia had said to Derek, it wasn't enough for the boy to forgive him. They avoided one another like only werewolves could, orbiting at opposite ends of the house just barely out of sight or sound. Peter pretended that nothing was wrong, but he caught his sister looking at him once or twice with an odd look on her face and felt the hair at the back of his neck prickle in paranoia.

She apologised to him a week after Derek's outburst.

“I know you're upset that Derek's avoiding you,” she said gently. “But he'll come around. He just needs time to process and then he'll realise that it's not so bad. You're not leaving for good and you're not leaving _us_, you're just going to college. He just doesn't understand.” She nudged his shoulder, a small smile making her mouth quirk, “you are his favourite.”

“I know.” Peter smirked back at his sister, pretending he wasn't at all worried that she might claw him to shreds. “He likes me better than you.”

Talia giggled. A surprisingly wholesome sound to come from an alpha wolf. “Just wait until he's a teenager, then he'll hate us both.”

A bolt of panic shot right through Peter's heart – a split second of horror at the thought that Derek would hate him. “Teenagers hate everyone,” Peter dismissed flippantly.

“You certainly did,” Talia joked, even smiling fondly at the thought.

-

_… at your parent-teacher interview, and I'm finding it difficult to believe... Are you listening to me, Peter? Don't just stare out the window and ignore me. I'm your guardian, you do know that don't you? I'm not just your sister, not just your alpha, I am legally responsible for you. That means that when you act out, I'm responsible for it._

_Well what would you call it then? If it's not 'acting out'._

_Peter, honey, you're a werewolf. You could have seriously hurt that boy. You need to learn to let things roll off your back and not take everything to heart. Remember, words can't hurt you._

_That's because you let them. Words can only hurt you if you let them. I want you to remember that, alright?_

_And don't get into any more fights at school, Petey._

-

He barely saw Derek at all until the day he left for New York. It had hurt, being avoided (and avoiding the boy in turn), but Peter reasoned that it was necessary. He had to wean himself from Derek's presence, had to get used to being away from him. It was sensible, really, to keep his distance while his nephew sorted out his feelings about Peter going away. But then suddenly it was time to leave. And suddenly he regretted not spending as much time with his nephew as possible.

Peter lingered by the car, fussing over the placement of his suitcases in the boot.

The whole of the pack had come by the house to see him off, Talia standing patiently by the driver's side door while the lot of them chatted and offered advice or last-minute goodbyes. All of them except Derek, who was probably still up in his room. Even Laura had come out of her preteen hormonal funk to give him a hug and admit that she'd miss him.

Peter sighed, silently admitting to himself that it was time to go. No more procrastinating. No more delaying the inevitable.

He shut the boot and turned around just in time to see Derek sprinting down the front steps.

Peter opened his arms on instinct. His nephew crashed into him hard, eyes already red from crying. His skinny arms wrapped tight around Peter's waist and he sobbed into his uncle's chest.

“I'm sorry,” Derek's muffled voice was choked with tears. “I'm sorry, I don't want you to go. I'll miss you. I'll miss you so much.”

“I know,” Peter soothed. He wrapped his arms around the boy and held him, closing his eyes. “I'll miss you too.”

“You have to come back when you're done. You _have_ to.”

“I will. I'll come back.”

“_Promise_.”

“I promise,” Peter said aloud, and on the inside his heart was breaking.

On the outside he patted Derek's back and waited for the boy to break the hug, then smiled at him and ruffled his hair. He said a final round of goodbyes to everyone and hopped into the car beside his big sister, hoping she'd be polite enough not to mention how his scent didn't match his smile.

-

The first year was the hardest, and not just because of the empty ache in his chest.

That was hard - the feeling of loneliness, the separation from his family and his pack – but on its own it would have been bearable. But there were also classes, assignments, and the self-imposed pressure to succeed. There was a weird kind of agoraphobic feeling to being in a place so much bigger and more crowded than Beacon Hills, too many people wherever he went. And just for a nice contrast his dorm room felt claustrophobically small, doubly so because only half of it was actually _his_ space.

The contempt he usually felt for people his age back in Beacon Hills seemed doubled. He hated everyone around him. Hated their loud voices and their cumulative stench in the hallways and lecture rooms. They almost seemed like a foreign species, different from him in how disgustingly _happy_ they all seemed.

Well adjusted _assholes_.

It was like highschool all over again, only without the haven of the Hale house and the preserve to go back to. No snarky cousins and sticky-faced toddlers to dodge, no sister trying valiantly to balance parenting and being an alpha with being a good sibling, no nieces to play with... And no Derek.

And it was all made even harder by how Peter refused to let on just how much he actually disliked the people around him.

He made sure to present a charming face, made himself friendly and likeable. It was all superficial on his end, but nobody needed to know that. After all, it was preparation for the future – contacts, networking, making connections with people who could potentially help him further down the line.

He made friends who thought they knew him, went to the parties he was invited to, even dated a little.

It felt hollow, but he kept the frustration to himself.

Better here than in Beacon Hills, he thought grimly every time found himself at the end of his rope, wanting to dig his claws into the meaty parts of the things that annoyed him. Better get used to being alone, keeping secrets from your peers. Because that's where you'll be when Talia catches you. And she will catch you.

You can't hide anything from Alpha Talia.

-

_Is there anything you want to tell me?_

_I won't judge you, Peter. I'll say this right now too, I'm not angry with you and I'm not disappointed. I wouldn't be even if you did have anything you wanted to say..._

_I just... might have heard some things that are making me... not concerned exactly but just... wondering what's going on with you. If there's anything wrong. Anything you might want to get off your chest..?_

_Don't, Peter. I already know that something is going on, I could order it out of you if I wanted to but I'm trying to give you the opportunity to come clean on your own._

_What do you mean, 'her choice'?_

_Oh, Peter, you didn't...? I can't believe you. This is after I told you to stay away from her._

_Because she's bad news! Because I knew something like this would happen. I knew what she was after the second she set foot in Beacon Hills and there you go, playing into her hands like the idiot teenager that you are. Good grief, Peter, why did you think she was so interested in you? You're the only Hale even close to her age, that's why! And now she thinks she has you trapped – has us trapped!_

_For God's sake, Peter, I thought you were going to tell me you were gay! Just... just be quiet. I can't deal with you right now, okay? I need to go talk to your 'friend'._

-

He made excuses to stay away during the smaller breaks. Most of them weren't even lies. He was slammed with work and struggling to keep on top of things. That was true for the first year at least, because being homesick and depressed had made it hard to concentrate and he'd needed extra time to pay catch up with his grades. He'd been invited to go volunteering with his roommate over the thanksgiving break. And he had been. He'd just laughed and instead offered to donate his money rather than his time. And the Christmas break was so short it wouldn't have been worth it.

Anxiety made him hesitate over the Summer Break. But then, miraculously, all three of Talia's kids had been signed up for summer camp (apparently after Laura broke down and practically begged to go because all of her friends were) and Peter didn't need to worry about any kind of scrutiny. It was just the adults, and that was fine by him... even if being home after so long just made him miss his nephew even more.

The second year was easier. He'd gotten used to the distance by then, the lonely feeling in his chest bearable enough that he could ignore it. The same excuses worked well enough and by the time the school year ended he had fairly good grades and a girlfriend who wanted to split the cost to go on a trip to France.

His bond to his family felt weaker in his mind – the knowledge that he had a pack to support him less and less important as he slowly pulled away.

Peter spent time wondering whether what he was doing was really good for his mental health. After all, everyone knew wolves without packs could easily go feral. And he did feel weaker, his strength not quite what it used to be.

Ultimately he dismissed it. If he was going to go crazy he'd have done so by now.

Instead he focused on his goals. Get good grades, get qualified, have a safety net in place in case distance and time didn't solve his little Derek-shaped problem.

Academically, year three was practically a breeze compared to the years before. It was just his personal life that started to suffer. Peter's girlfriend had finally figured out that there were things he was keeping from her – his family, anything to do with Beacon Hills or his childhood, and his habit of going no-contact for a couple of days every month. She picked fights and argued, and finally broke up with him for his dismissive attitude towards her concerns.

Talia had started picking at him too. She'd been noticing his distance. She'd picked up on the lack of communication and especially the lack of visits back home.

She was his alpha and she was concerned and she was his sister and she didn't understand why he'd be doing this.

He'd always have a place in the pack, she said. He'd always be able to come home.

She just wanted him to know that.

Peter thanked her, assured her everything was fine and he wasn't leaving the pack, or intentionally distancing himself because something was wrong. Any distance was nobody's fault. He was just much busier than he'd expected, that's all.

He'd gotten very good at lying, even to someone who could listen to his heartbeat.

If there was one thing he learned from his criminology class it was that polygraphs were notoriously unreliable. People beat them all the time. If you stayed calm you could fool it into thinking you were telling the truth... And if you were anxious, your heartbeat could make you look guilty even if you were nothing but innocent.

-

_I just... you're not there with me, Peter. You're somewhere else, you're – you keep things from me, and I know it's not intentional but what you're doing is saying to me that you don't care if I know about you or not. You don't care enough to tell me about yourself._

_And, like, you say it doesn't matter if you don't tell me about your family but you won't even say if it's because you were abused or if they're just shitty or if, I don't know, they disowned you or something! It's... it's a red flag, ok? It's... It's disrespectful. I tell you everything and you wont give me anything back._

_Because it is! It matters to me and that should be enough..._

_It's important to me because I want to be with someone who's going to be open with me. I want to just... just be able to share things with one another. I want to be with someone who's serious about me and that's – that means communicating, telling each other things. Do you understand? Do you even get where I'm coming from?_

_...do you even want to be with me?_

-

By the end of his undergraduate degree Peter felt he'd gotten the hang of living away from Beacon Hills, away from the Hale pack, and away from the one thing his mind still crept back to no matter how much he tried to avoid it. Always there in the back of his mind, a lurking mental presence. An aberrant thought that intruded sometimes like some kind of obsessive compulsive disorder. Except instead of intrusive thoughts about violence or self harm, Peter's intrusive thoughts were fond memories and idle musings about his favourite nephew.

Strange, maybe something he should be concerned about, but manageable.

He got accepted into his preferred JP law program without too much fuss. His undergrad grades had averaged out to be good, but not good enough to really brag about. Not good enough for scholarships anyway, which was fine considering he'd gained access to his trust fund and now had access to more money than he knew what to do with.

Talia didn't flaunt her wealth, and he knew full well she'd had just as much in her trust as he did now. To his knowledge all his sister had done with her money was keep the house in good repair and make sure her kids (and himself, when he was younger) had everything they needed. She even had a sensible 'mom car', though she did tend to buy mid-range designer clothing.

She'd probably have something to say about how a truly powerful person doesn't need to peacock in order to be taken seriously.

Peter didn't give a rats what she'd think about him spending two thousand dollars on a coat. He was spending a hell of a lot more on his future and he'd still have an unreasonable amount of money afterwards.

He didn't like to think about what he was going to do after law school.

-

_Hey Petey – sorry, I know you hate that, old habits – I was just calling to check in and see how you're doing. I guess I caught you in class, so..._

_Call me back?_


	2. Chapter Two – Self Control, in Theory if not Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wrestles with self control, something that psychopaths (even non-violent ones) aren't always known for, and makes some questionable choices.

Peter Hale was twenty-four when he returned to Beacon Hills.

He had two very official certificates that qualified him to practice law, plus his undergrad diploma. He was, after sitting the exam by correspondence, fully accredited to practice law in California and could theoretically open his own practice if he wanted to.

He didn't want to. That would require a lot more time and effort than he was willing to put into something that would likely offer little return. Beacon Hills might be small enough that it didn't already have a surplus of law firms around, but it was large enough that he'd have been competing with a few very well-established enterprises.

Frankly, he'd rather work for one of them.

Assuming he decided he wanted to work at all.

He arrived home at the very beginning of summer, two days after the local schools shut for their break. He had the taxi drop him off at the house, loaded up with suitcases that contained the past five years of his life.

It took all of thirty seconds for his family to spill out the front door, all of them surprised. He hadn't told anyone he was coming home.

His sister was the first out the door, the surprise melting into a huge grin when she caught sight of him. Talia barrelled down the steps and grabbed him up into a hug, his ribs creaking with the pressure. “Peter!” she scolded, sounding and smelling delighted, “why didn't you tell me you were coming home? I'd have picked you up at the airport!”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Peter replied, patting his sister (his alpha) on the back. He was grinning too, despite the parts of him that were still anxious and wary. He'd forgotten how _warm_ Talia could be, how much she cared for her family and her pack.

“Well you certainly managed that!” Talia laughed. She released him from the hug only to pat his shoulders and then ruffle his hair, a subtle sharing of her scent that marked him as _belonging_. “Kids,” she called back over her shoulder, projecting rather than yelling, “come say hi to Uncle Peter!”

Peter looked over her shoulder at the others, half expecting to see them all the way he remembered – a tiny terror with perpetually sticky hands, a tempestuous preteen, and his little duckling. The first one he saw was Laura, a proper teenager now and looking so much like her mother it was like seeing a photo of teenage Talia come to life.

She was sixteen, tall and slender with her mother's nose and eyebrows. She smiled at him and he couldn't help but smile back – the angsty preteen phase was clearly over – automatically reverting to his charming mask as he realised he didn't know her anymore.

“Uncle Peter,” Laura greeted him, even her voice sounding like Talia's only not as deep. “It's good to see you again.”

“Laura, you look just like your mother,” Peter told her, stepping forward to give her a quick, light hug. “And you must get that all the time.”

Laura rolled her eyes, though her smile stayed good-natured. “You have no idea.”

Cora was next, butting in with a blunt; “Nobody says I look like mom. I don't remember you,” she added.

Peter looked down into the (eight? Nine, she was nine now) nine year old's face and smiled. “Cora. No, you look like your own person. Which is much better in my opinion. I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to get to know each other now.”

Cora made a face. “As long as you don't try and get me play girl games, we'll be okay.”

Peter glanced down at Cora's very tomboyish outfit of overalls and t-shirt and grinned. “I think I can manage that.”

“Peter was always the best at games,” a quiet voice piped up from the front porch.

It was a voice that Peter knew, but deeper than it had been before. Not a child's voice anymore, but not a man's voice either.

Seeing Derek for the first time in five years was like a punch to the gut. It froze him. It completely stunned him. A small part of his brain remained detached enough to be horrified by the way his heart actually _skipped a beat_. Peter bit his tongue. Actually bit it gently between his teeth so he wouldn't blurt out the first thing to come to his mind.

_Duckling?_

Peter blinked, taking in the changes in his nephew. His scrutiny took no more than a second, but that second seemed to stretch. Time was doing something strange and so was his brain, as if he was going through a hard reboot and overwriting the memory of the little boy duckling he'd left behind.

Derek was barely fourteen, tall for a boy his age and skinny after a recent growth spurt. The eyebrows that had looked humorous on an eight year old now suited the face they belonged to – a face that was starting to properly hint at the man Derek would grow into. Sharper cheekbones, less puppy fat. Boys his age were probably jealous of his skin, and girls his age would be drawing hearts in their notebooks and writing 'Mrs Derek Hale'.

He was... Peter even hesitated to think the word 'attractive' because thinking that about his fourteen year old nephew made him feel like he should be labelled 'disturbed' in some way. But he was. For a boy his age, anyway.

_It's not like I want to sleep with him_, that detached part of his brain justified indignantly, _I'm not that disturbed_.

_No_, another, separate part of Peter's brain argued,_ you're just thinking that in a couple years time you're going to be having jailbait fantasies about your nephew_.

The second passed. Peter blinked again, his brain coming back online. “Derek? Good grief you've grown.”

“Hi Uncle Peter,” Derek replied shyly.

Peter wasn't sure what to say in reply, almost falling back on a lame response of 'hi' before Talia accidentally saved him by slinging an affectionate arm around his shoulder. “You _should_ have told me you were coming home,” she said again, using her grip on him to steer him towards the house. “I was going to do casserole for dinner tonight and now there wont be enough. We're going to have to order something instead.”

“Heaven forbid,” Peter deadpanned. “I need to get my bags, Tally.”

“Kids, get your uncle's bags please!”

“Oh, you taught them to be porters?”

“I taught them manners, Peter,” Talia said drily. She led him inside and into the informal dining room off the kitchen where she bullied him into a seat at the table. “Tea or coffee? And don't fight me on mothering you for a bit. You were gone so long I practically forgot what you look like, you can handle a bit of fussing from your sister.”

“Yes alpha,” Peter replied dutifully. “Also, don't be ridiculous. I sent photos.”

“Two. You sent two photos,” Talia turned around to look at him, hands on her hips. “Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, please.”

“Thank you. You sent us one photo of you and Marissa on that trip, and then another one from your graduation. Unless there were others that got lost in the mail...?”

“I did email you some others,” Peter responded, not wanting to admit that he'd known full well she either wouldn't have noticed them in between the scores of newsletters she was signed up to or that they'd probably been filtered out into spam.

“I hope you kept copies.” Talia paused a moment, head cocked as she listened to the kids troop up the stairs with Peter's bags. The coffee maker was on, the steady drip of percolation unnaturally loud in the silence. “I didn't touch your room, you know,” Talia said finally. “I understood not coming back that first time but after the second I wondered if you were planning on leaving us. I didn't think it was... I just thought maybe you were enjoying your independence away from your overbearing older sister. I know you felt like you didn't have enough privacy here – it was obvious, Peter, don't try to deny it – and I wondered whether you thought that being omega was a small price to pay...”

Peter hesitated. It was one thing to lie over the phone, but another to lie in person where his scent might give him away. Then again, it wasn't as if he really needed to lie.

“I _was_ enjoying myself,” he admitted. “Don't get me wrong, I love our family. I don't want to leave our pack. But I doubt I would have had the same experiences if I'd stayed here and gone to the local college. I don't want to be cliché and talk about finding myself...”

“But you needed that time as a young adult to figure out who you were,” Talia finished for him, understanding in her tone. He remembered that she would have been about his age when their mother died and suddenly she was expected to look after her much younger brother.

Peter smiled wryly. “And our cousins are so involved even outside pack business that it's difficult to imagine being able to go for a night on the town and do something stupid without one of them finding out.”

“Speaking of our cousins...”

“Do we absolutely have to?”

“I'll have to invite them around for a pack dinner,” Talia continued as if she hadn't heard him. “We need to celebrate you being home, and not just with Chinese food.”

“We're getting Chinese?” Cora's voice called from somewhere above their heads, most likely at the top of the stairs. “I want beef and broccoli!”

“Can we get something with noodles?” Laura's voice sounded from another part of the house, muffled by walls. “Is hokkien Chinese or Japanese?”

Talia deposited a full cup of coffee in front of him, made the same way he used to like it five years ago. “Welcome back to the madhouse, Peter.” She smiled at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling with humour. “We're glad you're home.”

-

After too-sweet coffee and listening to Talia catch him up about the family, Peter finally got the opportunity to retreat back to his old room.

True to her word, it was exactly the way he left it. His old posters were still on the walls, his book shelf full of novels and interesting knick-knacks. The bedspread was navy blue, the walls a pale robin's egg. The air was still, a few stale scents lingering in the carpet barely noticeable over the more recent traces left behind by his bags being dropped off just inside the door.

Talia had probably vacuumed once in a while, there was no real accumulation of dust anywhere.

Peter shut the door carefully behind him for a proper illusion of privacy – werewolves got used to tuning out a lot of what was going on outside the scope of 'normal' hearing range, but accidental eavesdropping was still a common hazard in a house full of them. Basic soundproofing helped muffle things, but only the basement and its tunnels were _properly_ soundproof.

He turned to consider the room, comparing his taste as a teenager to what it was now. He still liked the bands on the wall, but the posters were a little tacky. The colours weren't too bad. Maybe not what he'd pick now, but nice enough to live with.

After a moment, Peter grabbed his bags and dumped them onto the bed. He unzipped the first, the one with all his clothes, and got to work hanging them up in the mostly-empty closet. Next came books, photos, and electronics. Those went to the shelves and the tiny student desk near the window. Shoes and coats got put into their proper places, a pouch of toiletries stuffed into the bedside drawer, and finally he was left with nothing but empty bags.

He stowed those under the bed and then sat down and stared at the robin's egg wall, wondering what he was doing back here.

As if by divine purpose there was a quiet knock on the door and Derek slipped shyly into the room, shutting the door behind him.

_Right_.

Peter swallowed, biting back a sharp question about what exactly the boy thought he was doing, sneaking into his room. Because obviously he wasn't sneaking. _Sneaking_ implied that he was doing something wrong, and there wasn't anything _wrong_.

So Peter ignored his first paranoid instinct and asked; “Derek?”

The young teen was looking at the carpet, his shoulders oddly slumped. He glanced up when Peter spoke and for a moment the older man was struck by how lovely those eyes were.

“Hey,” Derek replied softly. “Are you... I don't know if you wanted to... rest? I can go, if you don't want me here.”

“I'm fine,” Peter said, watching his nephew, cataloguing his body language. “I slept on the plane. First class isn't too bad for that sort of thing, and I was lucky enough to be on a flight without any screaming children.”

“That's good.”

Derek hesitated, obviously so. Whatever he wanted to say was clearly something important to him, but it also wasn't coming out right away. Not without intervention. So Peter patted the bed beside him. “You can sit down, you know. Or there's a chair,” he indicated the old office chair by the desk. “I'm not going to bite your head off. I'm not that scary, am I?”

“No.” Derek visibly hesitated again, but eventually chose to come sit with Peter on the bed.

The way he sat looked familiar, and Peter wondered if Derek had come in and sat on the bed sometimes while he was away.

“You know,” Peter began, leaning back on his hands and stretching his legs out, “when I left you barely came up to my chest. Such a small thing, tiny you. I barely recognise you now, except for your eyebrows you look like an entirely new person.”

“You were away for five years,” Derek pointed out, not looking at him. “Kids grow up, it's what we _do_.” He paused a beat. “You missed a lot.”

“I did. I missed you.”

“Did you?” Derek asked, suddenly looking up at him. “You were gone for five years. You left, and you didn't call or come home and you didn't write. Even _mom _barely heard from you and she's your sister. You were just _gone_,” Derek's voice cracked, breaking on the word and making Peter feel way too guilty. “I felt like I was missing a limb, but nobody else even cared. Mom thought it was cute how I cried for you that first year. She didn't get it, it _hurt_ when you left and then you didn't even...”

Derek choked off into silence, angrily swiping away the tears that had formed in his eyes at an old hurt coming to the surface again.

Peter was speechless, staring at his nephew. The phase 'like I was missing a limb' kept circling in his head, calling back to that empty feeling in his chest and that longing he'd felt. A longing he still felt, far too strong to be normal, to pull Derek into his arms and never let go.

He was stupid to think time could have dulled that feeling. Stupid to think distance would have any bearing on how he felt. Stupid to come back and put himself in this position, the exact same one he'd run away from before.

Talia was going to fucking kill him one day.

He was going to become that uncle. The creepy one that hugged for too long and tried to casually convince his teenaged nieces that it was totally fine to walk around in their underwear in front of him, except he'd be doing it to Derek and not Laura. Though that was assuming Talia let it get to that point. Who knows, she might smell something suspicious from him and decide Derek would be safer with him gone from the pack.

At which point he'd be forced into stalking his nephew from afar until one too many restraining orders landed him in serious trouble.

Maybe he'd kill the boy's girlfriend. He'd been that jealous of Derek's playdates when he was younger, it was entirely likely he'd go off the deep end if he saw someone actually kissing the boy.

And now he was jealous of a girl that presumably didn't even exist, angry at himself for even thinking about it.

“I'm sorry,” Peter said, rather than blurt out any of what he was thinking.

Derek laughed bitterly, still wiping away tears. “You're sorry.”

“I didn't want to leave you,” Peter explained, for once speaking the absolute truth. “I didn't mean to hurt you. It hurt me to leave, but I needed to get away.” He listened a moment, checking to make sure nobody was close enough to listen through the door before he offered; “I'll even tell you why, if you promise to keep it a secret.”

Derek eyed him warily, sniffing a little as he tried to pull himself back together. “Tell me.”

“It was Talia. I needed to get away from her before she found out something I wanted to keep from her. Something she wouldn't have approved of. Something I believed she may have even demanded I leave the pack over.”

“And that's why you stayed away,” Derek deduced bitterly, “because you were afraid of mom.”

“Oh, I still am.” Peter admitted with a crooked grin.

“Is that why you came home? Because she found out whatever it was and said it was okay.”

At that Peter had to laugh. A soft, sarcastic little laugh. “No. She still doesn't know, and I want to keep it that way. I came back,” he explained quietly, aware that his heart was beating too fast with the adrenaline spike that came from admitting such a dangerous thing out loud, “because of you. Because I missed you too. Like I was missing a limb. You were always my favourite, Derek. You still are.”

Through the salty-bitter smell of tears Derek's base scent turned syrupy-happy, notes that reminded Peter of brown sugar and heat. Fresh sweat on skin. Flickers and curls of arousal.

“You're my favourite too,” the boy said, a shy smile curling his lips. He shifted, leaning forwards until he could hug Peter, his arms around the older man's chest, face against his neck.

Instinct made Peter hug back before he could even think about what was happening. Suddenly he knew what all of those old drug PSAs meant when they said 'one hit and you could be hooked for life'. He nuzzled his nose into Derek's hair, breathing in his nephew's scent much deeper than was polite. He didn't even care that Derek's still-wet face was smushed against his skin, probably leaving snot-traces behind from his tear-drippy nose.

He had to laugh when he heard Derek's voice, muffled against his shoulder. “If you leave again I'm going to kill you.”

“If I leave again I promise I'll let you come with me,” Peter replied, resting his cheek on top of Derek's hair. 

The hug went on just a second longer, and then they both pulled away as if they'd reached some unspoken but agreed upon limit. A bargain struck – Peter wouldn't leave again, and Derek wouldn't spill the beans about why he'd left.

“Mom's ordering dinner,” Derek said after a moment. “I should probably clean up.”

He stood and walked to the door, pausing just before he left to run back and say; “I'm glad you're back, Uncle Peter.”

-

He hadn't realised how hard the full moons had been. Not until his first one back with the pack.

Peter had thought that he'd handled everything just fine – he hadn't lost control, hadn't mauled anyone or done anything regrettable. Most of the time he'd spent the full moon indoors, camped out with his textbooks or, if he was feeling particularly masochistic, bad tv. Once or twice (after he'd gained access to his trust fund and inheritance) he'd managed an overnight trip somewhere secluded, but it really hadn't been practical to try and get away once a month when he had studying to do and assignments to think about. Asses to kiss and potential connections to charm.

It hadn't been _easy_, but he'd really thought that it hadn't been that bad.

Standing outside in the moonlight, nothing but trees for miles in any direction, he had to admit that he'd been wrong.

There was a sense of connection that he'd missed, both to nature and to the people around him. He may not like all of his family (Jonathan, Camille, any children that didn't belong to his sister), but they had a shared connection that made him comfortable around them. They'd have his back in a fight – be it with hunters, other wolves, or verbal spars with oblivious garden-variety humans.

They might join Talia in lynching him if he ever laid a hand on Derek, but he supposed he couldn't blame them for that.

Speaking of Derek...

Peter opened his eyes, shaking out of the stupor he'd been in while basking in the moonlight and instead looking for his nephew. He saw his nieces first, Cora not quite old enough to manage more than a hint of claw, Laura looking as majestic as Talia did in her beta-shift and the both of them making a game out of catching cicadas. He could hear Camille off to one side, teaching her eldest how to identify different smells – the youngest back at the house with her human husband.

And there was Derek. Standing nearby with his head cocked, clearly listening to something or someone out of sight. His mother, perhaps, who was off somewhere to the west.

He shifted slightly and caught sight of Peter watching him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Peter grinned, baring his fangs in a smile he knew looked pretty horrible when he was in beta-shift.

Unlike his sister, Peter's beta form was not majestic, it was monstrous. His claws were long, his fangs just the same, and the hollows made by his cheekbones and brow ridges looked as if they'd been gouged out. He was built for intimidation in this form. Even the yellow glow of his eyes when he flashed them looked sickly rather than warm.

Derek, he noted, was blessed enough to be somewhere in the middle. Enough for the average human to baulk at on first sight, but more palatable by common standards of beauty.

“I haven't been on a proper moon run in a long time,” Peter added after a moment, to explain his odd behaviour should anyone else be paying attention.

Derek grinned back at him then, the expression wicked when coupled with those teeth and ridges. “I'll race you. To the stream and back.”

“That's a long way... are you sure you're up for it?” Peter teased, and would have raised an eyebrow had he had any in this form.

“Are you sure you can keep up with me, old man?” Derek retorted, getting himself into position and ready to run.

“I'm twenty-four!” Peter spluttered, half-laughing even as he sank into a runner's crouch.

“Older than me,” Derek pointed out. “On three. Laura, count us in?”

“Don't be stupid and break any bones, and if you get in trouble with mom for going out too far I'm telling her it was your idea, Derek,” Laura warned them both, then dutifully started the count.

At Laura's “three” they were off, Peter grinning wildly as he bolted through the trees, barrelling through the underbrush and jumping over the smaller obstacles in his path. He kept pace with Derek to start, just enjoying the free feeling that came from running through the forest at night. He didn't really start to race until the younger wolf managed to pull ahead, surprising Peter with his speed.

After that it was a true neck-and-neck race, Peter pushing himself to his limit in an effort to beat his nephew... secretly quite impressed at just how much effort it was taking to keep Derek from getting away from him entirely.

In the end he was paying too much attention to keeping pace and didn't see the stream coming up on them until he was splashing into it.

The feeling of icy cold water was a shock. He stopped running without thinking, and momentum had him pitching forward into the water with an extremely undignified yelp.

Peter came back up sopping wet and spluttering, Derek doubled over and cracking up on the bank.

Peter coughed and swiped water out of his eyes, realising when he felt his face that he'd lost his shift in the shock of plunging into the water. He let his eyes flare yellow for the increased night-vision and kept them that way.

“Oh, fuck you,” he said to Derek, who was still laughing at him.

“I told you,” Derek said between chuckles, slowly regaining his breath after both the run and his subsequent laughing fit at Peter's expense. “I told you you couldn't keep up.”

“Yes, you're very fast,” Peter agreed, sloshing his way out of the stream and onto the bank beside his nephew. “But you're not very devious,” he added, and promptly shoved Derek into the water, “or you'd have seen that coming.”

Derek yelped in surprise, much the same as Peter had, but managed to stop himself from going completely under. He stood in the middle of the stream for a moment, water up to his knees, jeans wet almost all the way up his thighs, and gaped at his uncle for a moment.

“You deserve it,” Peter told him loftily, wringing water from the bottom of his sweater.

“You're such an asshole,” Derek said, wading out of the water. “I forgot how much of a dick you were.”

“Language,” Peter sing-songed, mocking his sister and the way she used to say it to him when he was Derek's age. He was about to smirk and suggest they call it even when suddenly he was tackled to the ground by a wickedly grinning teenager who clearly thought he'd just made a brilliant tactical move.

Peter landed heavy on his back with Derek on top of him, very glad he hadn't worn any of his _good_ clothes that night. Instead of letting Derek get away with the tackle, Peter grabbed his nephew around the waist with one arm and used his weight to flip them. The ensuing scuffle was swift and dirty in the most literal sense, the damp earth made wet by dripping clothes and turned into a slick layer of mud that ground into skin and hair and cloth.

The ending was inevitable.

Derek might be fast, but Peter was still taller and heavier and stronger. He sat high on his nephew's legs, the teen's wrists pinned to the muddy ground.

If he'd had more training, or the same kind of training that girls got, he might have had a chance of getting out of it. But Derek was fourteen, play-fighting against a full grown male werewolf, and he hadn't been taught how to get out of being pinned by someone bigger and stronger than he was. (An oversight Peter was going to have to bring up with Talia at some point.)

“Say 'uncle',” Peter teased, grinning down at the younger wolf. He was barely out of breath, exhilarated rather than annoyed despite being wet and muddy... though that would change when he got home and had to wash the dirt out of his hair.

“Go fuck yourself,” Derek's retort came with a laugh and a half-hearted final attempt to get out of being pinned. He had a smudge of dirt up the side of his face, half his hair sticking up in muddy spikes.

He looked fucking adorable. Peter licked his lips, tasting water and dirt.

Derek was beneath him, still out of breath, his face and neck slightly flushed. Looking up at him with his lips parted, eyes suddenly gone wide.

He smelled like...

Footsteps in the near distance made Peter snap to attention. He got up and offered Derek a hand, the strange moment gone and the stink of embarrassment in the air to cover up whatever it was that Peter had thought he smelled.

Thirty seconds later Jonathan appeared at the tree line, looking back and forth between the two of them incredulously. “What the hell have you been doing, rolling in the mud?”

“Yes, actually,” Peter replied carelessly, flicking a stray leaf from his shoulder. “It's good for the skin, you know.”

“Right.” Jonathan did not sound impressed. “Anyway, Talia sent me out to get you. She wants you both back at the house. Everyone else,” he added pointedly, “is back at the house already. It's after midnight by the way, and a school night.”

“Yes, yes, we're bad little betas,” Peter rolled his eyes at Derek when Jonathan turned away. “Come along, nephew. Mother wants us.”

Derek sighed expressively and begrudgingly started to follow after Jonathan. “I'm in so much trouble, aren't I?” he muttered.

“Oh, definitely,” Peter flashed him a smile. “Probably not as much as me. _I'm_ a bad influence.”

-

_Peter, what is going on with you? I can't believe they called me at work – at work, Peter – to come and get you! For fighting! Again! I cannot believe you lately, your behaviour is just..._

_I know you didn't use your real strength on him! If you had he'd be in the hospital!_

_But that's not –_

_That's not the point, Peter! I've said this before. There's no excuse – no, I am talking now, Peter, and you will not talk over me – there is no excuse for that sort of behaviour. When we have issues with humans, especially thirteen-year-old humans who are unarmed and in no way dangerous to us or our pack, we do not resort to violence of any kind! We may be predators but we are not thugs or bullies. Do you understand me?_

_Words can't hurt you, Peter. Next time, go to a teacher._

-

As it turned out, Peter was right in his earlier assumptions – Derek was popular.

Despite it being summer, or maybe because of it, there was a constant string of invites for the boy to go places and do things. Peter learned very quickly, through Derek himself and through Talia's helpful relay of information about everything he'd missed, that there was a core group of boys that his nephew associated with alongside a wider network of sports-friends (because of course Derek played sports), school-friends, and people who floated around the edges of those groups while desperately wanting to be included.

Almost every day Derek would leave the house for some event – a party, a meet-up at the local pool, an afternoon at the arcade, a casual game of basketball in someone's back yard. He'd come back around dinner time and cheerfully tell Peter about whatever it was that had happened that day.

Which was horrible, because Peter was now back to secretly being jealous of Derek's friends.

Worse, sometimes Derek didn't even come back for dinner. Instead Talia would receive a quick phone to call to let her know that he'd been invited to eat at Tommy's/Daniel's/Matt's place and they'd drop him off home later.

Then Peter found himself deprived of even more time with his nephew.

“I'm glad, honestly,” Talia said one evening over a glass of wine. “I was never worried about Laura, but Derek was such a quiet boy and after you...”

Peter raised his eyebrows, daring her to comment on his troublesome teen years.

“I'm just glad Derek has friends,” Talia finished instead, unintentionally striking at a different old hurt than the one he'd been expecting.

Because Peter had _not_ been popular at Derek's age. In fact, if they'd been the same age then he'd probably have gotten into fights with Derek for being one of _those_ boys – the arrogant, cocky ones who tormented Peter for being a loner weirdo who liked reading more than sports.

“Well, third time's the charm,” Peter drawled back at his sister. He took a sip of his Riesling – he'd always reasoned that if he wasn't able to experience the benefit of getting drunk then he wasn't going to subject himself to anything too dry or overtly bitter – and waited for her to catch on.

Talia blinked at him, then frowned slightly. “You know I didn't mean it like that,” she said like it was half-admonishment and half-apology. “I'll admit it, I was out of my depth sometimes when you were younger but you didn't make it easy either.”

“True,” Peter agreed, though privately he'd always thought it should have been Talia's responsibility to learn how to parent him and not his responsibility to grow up on her timetable. The past was the past though, and he'd turned out mostly-alright. He snorted inelegantly. “It's not like you could have taken me to get professional help. Imagine me telling a child psychiatrist I couldn't relate to my peers because I was a werewolf. I'd have been on anti-psychotics before you could blink.”

“Not that it would have done any good,” Talia chuckled, probably imagining just that.

“Mm, our metabolic systems are a curse.”

“At least you never tried mixing alcohol with wolfsbane because someone told you it would get you drunk.”

Shocked, Peter gaped at his sister. “You did not.”

Talia shook her head, smiling ruefully. “I did. I was thirteen and Julie told me she'd read about it. She swore it would work, so I gave it a try. I spent an entire afternoon puking my guts out. I've told all the kids about it already, by the way,” she added, “so don't go thinking you have one over on me. I wanted them to know not to try it.”

“You never told _me_.”

“It was one thing I never had to worry about with you.”

Peter was sitting out on the porch when Derek came home that night. It was nice outside, warm but not stifling, with a cool breeze to ruffle the pages of his book. Another glass of wine, a lantern to read by, and he had quite a nice set up.

He heard the car long before he saw it coming up the drive – a silver-blue soccer mom car with tinted windows. It pulled to a stop outside the house, waited until Derek had waited goodbye to whichever friend was in the front passenger seat, then drove off again. Derek waved again, then trotted up the stairs.

“Tommy?” Peter asked idly, looking at his nephew over the top of his book.

“Matt,” Derek corrected with a grin. He glanced at the front door, then sat down across from Peter. “What are you reading?”

“A book you'd be bored by,” Peter dog-eared one of the pages to keep his place and set the book down on the table beside his wineglass. “Did you have a good time with your friend?”

“Friends,” the second correction came with a second grin, like he knew Peter could really care less about who exactly he'd been out with. “Yeah, Matt's dad has a pool table in the basement so we pretty much spent the afternoon in there. I'd tell you more about it but you'd probably get bored.”

“I could never get bored listening to you,” Peter said flippantly. “I may not remember your friends names or anything about them, but that doesn't mean I'm not paying attention.”

“Right.” Derek rolled his eyes, “because you're so interested. You hate my friends. I've seen how you scrunch your nose up every time I mention I'm going to go meet them.”

An unfortunate physical tick. Peter was going to have to try and keep an eye on that. He didn't want anyone figuring out that it wasn't Derek's friend choices that he was bothered by. Still, it was as good an excuse as any.

“I haven't actually met your friends, how could I possibly hate them?”

“I don't know. I never met Marissa and I still thought she was a raging bitch. Mom talked about her,” Derek added, seeing the look on his uncle's face and mistaking it for surprise. “Your college girlfriend, the one who always wanted to go on trips and stay in fancy hotels.”

“That's an unfair but apt description.”

“She sounded like such a bimbo,” Derek said, crossing his arms on top of the table and leaning forward. “I didn't get why you'd like someone like her.”

“Because she was convenient.” Peter picked up his wine glass and took a sip to avoid the look on Derek's face (one part surprise, one part distaste, and something unreadable around the eyes). “Don't you dare tell your mother I said that. She'll come out with some more of that 'bad influence' nonsense. God forbid you figure out that sometimes relationships are about sex.”

“I'm fourteen,” Derek said bluntly, “that's too young for sex.”

“Is it?” Peter shrugged, suppressing a hot flash of anger at the thought of Derek having sex with anyone. “Probably. Definitely too young for _just_ sex. Or sex with an anyone older than you.” Peter paused thoughtfully. “Why am I talking to you about this?”

Derek looked amused. “You started it. All I said was Marissa sounded like a bimbo.”

“Well, I stand by my point.” He pointed at Derek, the effect somewhat ruined by the wineglass still in his hand, “don't get into it just for the sex, Derek. It won't end well.”

Most likely because Peter would _murder_ his partner.

“Aren't you supposed to not talk to me about things like this?” Derek asked, still sounding way too amused.

“Probably,” Peter said again. And then, impulsively; “I also shouldn't encourage you to ditch your friends and go shopping with me. I'm thinking about buying a car and I want a decent second opinion on hand. Talia would just tell me to get something sensible and I can't _stand_ the thought of dragging anyone else along.”

The way Derek's face lit up at the suggestion had Peter's heart beating faster, the smile on his nephew's face way too bright to be anything but genuine. “Sure! I'll go with you. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Peter agreed with a smile, raising his wine glass.

-

_What's this?_

_Don't dodge the question, Peter. I asked you what this is and I expect you to answer._

_Because I want you to think about it. I want you to think about it, and I want you to take responsibility, that's why. You know full well why I don't want this kind of thing in the house – what if Laura had found this? How would you explain this to her? She's only six, Peter. Six is way too young to have to explain something like this!_

_You know that's not really an option – … Privacy is relative in a pack house, you know that. All I'm asking for is a little thought on your part. A little thought about where exactly you keep your private things and whether or not it's within the reach of –_

_That is **not** the point. If the drawer has a lock, you keep it locked. God damn it, Peter. You make things so hard sometimes._

-

The next day Peter drove them out to the next town over to look at some of the nicer dealerships. It was not at all because he wanted Derek all to himself and the risk of innocent interruptions by people one or both of them knew was too high in Beacon Hills.

He'd borrowed Camille's car (asking only after the fact and via text so he could ignore it when she said 'no') to do so and would be very glad to never have to set foot in it again. It smelled too much like applesauce and air freshener for his liking.

Derek was good company on the drive, chatting about the move from middle school to high school and how he thought he was going to handle the change.

“You won't be the big fish anymore,” Peter had pointed out at one point, privately having flashbacks of his own freshman year and very much hoping that Derek's was nothing like that.

“I know,” Derek shrugged. “But I don't have to be the big fish. As long as I make the basketball team I'll be happy.”

“Actually, I'm surprised Talia lets you play.”

“Yeah, it was a big thing for a while. But I promised I wouldn't use any of my 'natural advantages',” Derek even added the finger-quotes. “I make sure I don't do much better than any of the other guys. I even lose sometimes just to keep it even. I don't care about being the best all the time, I just want to play.”

“I'll have to come watch you play. I'll even make an embarrassing sign,” Peter teased, looking away from the road so he could glance at his nephew and smirk. “'I heart Derek'. In glitter. It's going to be fantastic.”

“Sure. Do it. I'll just stick glitter in all your coat pockets.”

Peter laughed, delighted. “You evil little bastard.”

Derek leaned back in his seat, looking smug. “I learned from the best.”

They managed to go through two dealerships before lunch, both places discarded either because of the over-eager service (“She's just sucking up because she wants to get in your pants. It's _gross_.”) or because a quick glance around the showroom had yielded nothing much of interest. (“I want something classy,” Peter had said, “not an obnoxious overcompensation for a small dick. No offence,” he'd added to the man nearby who'd given him a dirty look.)

It was at the third place that they found what they were looking for.

“This one,” Derek announced, immediately gravitating towards a sleek gunmetal-grey sports car.

Peter followed him, looking over the car as he went. He had to admit that his nephew had good taste. It was a coupe. Elegant rather than flashy. And just nice enough that it would definitely stand out.

“Not much in the way of trunk space,” Peter mused aloud, slowly walking his way around the car.

“Like you'd want to haul a bunch of stuff anyway,” Derek pointed out. He bumped his elbow gently into Peter's side. “You don't go camping. Why would you want a huge boot?”

“I might take up golf.”

As intended, Derek laughed. He opened the front door and looking inside at the interior. “Looks nice. I can see you in there.”

“Oh, can you?” Peter smirked. He slipped past his nephew and into the driver's seat, well aware of the salesperson hovering a polite distance in the background. Peter placed his hands on the wheel to feel the leather, then palmed the gear shift. “What do you think?”

He looked at his nephew just in time to see Derek swallow, an odd look on the boy's face. “Yeah,” Derek said after a moment, the tips of his ears gone suspiciously pink, “that's you.”

“You can take her out for a test drive if you like,” the salesperson piped up from a few steps away. “It'll just take me a few minutes to get the keys and the sign-out form.”

“I think I'd like that,” Peter murmured. He looked at Derek, feeling a strangely sick thrill of anticipation at the idea of his nephew sitting in the passenger seat of a car much smaller and more intimate than Camille's hulking SUV. Windows up, air cycling on, Derek's scent heavy against the new car smell and the leather.

_Fuck yes_.

He tried not to read into the faint smell of arousal. Teenaged boys were notoriously horny creatures, easily turned on by practically anything. An especially nice car, for example.

Peter got out of the car long enough to fill out the appropriate paperwork. Then he slid back into the driver's seat, this time with the keys, and waited for his nephew to join him. Derek got into the passenger seat. He fastened his seat belt and cleared his throat, his cheeks faintly flushed.

“Oh, don't worry,” Peter said as the engine purred to life, a wicked grin on his face even as he felt his own body start to react to the signals in Derek's scent (_too young, he's too young, he's your fucking nephew Jesus Christ_). “I love a good car myself.”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed in an embarrassed mutter, arms crossed over his chest. “It's, uh, a nice car.”

Peter reached over and squeezed his knee reassuringly (and not – the horrible, sarcastic voice in his head said – because he just wanted to touch). “It's fine, Derek. We'll roll the windows down once we get going.”

Because there was no way in hell Peter could sit in an enclosed space with that delicious smell coming off his nephew and not wind up hard as a rock and willing to bribe the salesperson not to say a word or call child protective services. Fuck, he'd bribe _Derek_ not to say anything about Peter's supposed car fetish. He'd rather not let anything about inappropriate erections get back to Talia.

She'd kill him even if she didn't think it was because of her son.

As promised, once they were actually out on the street Peter rolled the windows down and both of them breathed a sigh of relief. Though probably for different reasons, he mused.

With the smell of arousal swept away by the wind, Peter was able to concentrate on the drive. The car handled beautifully, the acceleration smooth and the braking easy. After a few minutes Derek even relaxed, clearly having been able to let go of whatever it was that had gotten him worked up to begin with. By the time they got back to the dealership Peter was decided.

He was a rich lawyer cliché. He was getting the damn Aston Martin.

-

Derek didn't say anything about the awkward moment in the car – something that Peter was privately grateful for. In fact, it looked like he'd decided to pretend that it had never happened. Which was fine by Peter, since it meant he didn't need to grope for explanations for his own behaviour.

What wasn't fine was the way Derek also seemed to be avoiding him.

Peter could understand it. He still remembered what it was like to be fourteen and hormonal. He just wished that Derek knew he wouldn't be shamed for certain bodily reactions being out of his control. At least not by his uncle.

Though he did have the paranoid thought that maybe Derek had noticed Peter's own scent-reaction.

If so, he supposed he was lucky to get away with just being avoided.

The Aston Martin arrived at the house a week after purchase, delivered on the back of a very large truck. Talia gave him a _look_ about it, the 'Peter's being Peter again' smile back for another appearance.

At least she didn't say anything about it, which was better than Camille's comment about it being an obvious attention grab or Robert's claim that he must be compensating because “nobody needs a car that expensive”.

Peter interpreted that to be a dig about how his cousin's branch of the Hales didn't have quite the same amount of money at their disposal.

Showing excellent timing and tact, Talia diffused the argument before it could even begin by announcing that it was time for back-to-school shopping.

“We can do it one of two ways,” she told the kids, and the family at large, over Sunday breakfast. “I can either give you your back to school money and trust you to get what you need yourselves, or we can all go to the mall together tomorrow. Cora, honey, you'll be going with me anyway but I'll let you pick what we get. Which would you kids prefer?”

“Money,” Laura said, Derek a split second behind.

“It's going to have to cover books as well,” Talia warned her eldest two. “I wont give you more if you go over.”

“That's fine,” Laura replied easily, looking like she was already mentally composing a list of what she wanted to get, “I know how to budget. Also I went to the mall with Jamie yesterday so I already have a few ideas.”

“Derek?” Talia asked.

“I think I'll be fine. I know what I need for books and stuff.” He cast a quick glance across the table at Peter and cleared his throat. “Anyway, I was hoping I could maybe go with Uncle Peter?”

Amused, Talia smirked at her brother. “Don't ask me,” she said to her son, “ask him. I won't alpha him into taking you school shopping if he doesn't want to.”

“I'll go,” Peter said, maybe a little too quickly given the odd look thrown his way. “I need new jeans,” he added dismissively. “And it would be nice to take the car on a proper drive.”

“If we go now we'll have until four before things close,” Derek offered, practically having inhaled his breakfast already in that way that growing boys had.

Peter considered the remains of his own pancakes, then decided he could always grab something from the food court. He pushed himself away from the breakfast table and stood. “Go get ready. I'll meet you by the car.”

“Five minutes,” Derek promised, already on his feet and thundering up the stairs before Peter had even put his dishes in the sink.

Talia caught up to her brother at the base of the stairs and stopped him with a hand on his elbow. “He has a three hundred dollar budget,” she told him. “If you hold on a moment I'll get my purse.”

“Dont be silly, Tally. You can owe me a nice sweater.”

“Uncle Peter's playing favourites,” Laura sing-songed from back in the dining room.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Tack it on to my next Christmas present,” he told his sister, then headed upstairs to get ready.

It didn't take long. A nicer shirt than the around-the-house tee he'd been wearing, a light jacket, a casual pair of loafers and he was ready to go. He patted his pockets to make sure he had his wallet and keys, then went back down the stairs to wait for Derek by his shiny new car.

As promised, his nephew was down within five minutes, changed out of the grungy jeans he'd been wearing and into something a little nicer but still casual. He needed new shoes, Peter noted. The sneakers he was wearing were fucking disgusting.

“Thanks for taking me,” Derek said when they were in the car and pulling away from the house.

“Don't mention it, duckling. I'm sure you're sick of going to the mall with your mom and sisters.”

“Duckling?” Derek repeated, his tone incredulous and one eyebrow arched in a passable imitation of Peter's own signature look.

_Fuck_. It had just slipped out, some sort of Freudian mishap of the tongue.

“What?” Peter asked, feigning nonchalance and pretending he wasn't internally cursing over revealing his old name for his favourite nephew. “Haven't I called you that before?”

“_No_,” Derek laughed.

“Well it's what I used to call you when you were younger,” Peter half-shrugged, “back when you used to follow me around everywhere. You were my little duckling.” He half-cooed the nickname and flashed a teasing smirk at his nephew.

“Fuck you,” Derek grinned. “Asshole.”

“If that's your nickname for me we're going to have words about your vocabulary.”

“Anyway, I didn't used to follow you everywhere.”

“Oh, yes you did.”

“And to me you're just Uncle Peter,” Derek added pointedly. “I never had any other name for you growing up.” A beat. “Maybe I should call you 'mother duck'.”

Peter couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up at that. “Try it,” he advised. “Just you try calling me that in public, duckling.”

“You try calling me 'duckling' in public, old man.” Derek's retort came with a smug grin that hinted at trouble some time in the future.

Peter had always been a sucker for a pretty grin, and his nephew was growing into a very pretty young man. He stubbornly tried to bury the thought that this sort of banter would count as flirting if he'd been speaking to someone his own age. The charming 'asshole with a heart of gold' routine had gotten a few people into bed over the years.

At the mall, Peter played his part dutifully and went around various stores with his nephew. He helped him pick out new shoes (thank god) and a new jacket before they got anywhere near items that required changing rooms. And then Peter realised he might have a small problem. Because Derek seemed to want his opinion on everything from t-shirts to which colour of jeans looked the best on him and insisted on showing Peter each possible combination of clothes from the pile he'd chosen.

That in itself wouldn't have been a problem. Only Peter was starting to notice than in the past few weeks Derek seemed to have grown at least an inch and filled out some in the shoulders. Just since Peter had been home!

_Early bloomer_, Peter mused, looking his nephew up and down in his latest outfit combination. He caught Derek giving him an odd, indiscernible look and smiled at him. “The green looked better,” he advised on the shirt, “but the jeans are good.”

_And next we should go shopping for swimwear. Just in case. And can I stay in the room with you while you get changed, duckling? Can I hold you? Can we get married like you wanted to when you were seven and then I wont have to worry about sending you off to high school and all the girls who are going to go crazy over you there?_

“Thanks,” Derek flashed him a smile and shoved him gently out of the room again so he could close the door and change back into his own clothes. “We can go looking for you now if you want,” he said through the door, the sound of rustling fabric making Peter ball his hands into fists. “You wanted jeans, right?”

Fucking thoughtful little asshole. You couldn't say he didn't pay attention.

“I want a lot of things,” Peter said, consciously forcing his hands open again and posing so he looked loose and casual. “But pants will do.”

They paid for Derek's new outfits (miraculously he was within Talia's budget), then crossed the mall to the slightly fancier stores with bigger brand names and higher prices. It didn't take Peter long to find a few pairs of pants to try on. He'd figured out his style fairly quickly once he had the money to do so and he knew what looked good on his frame.

Unlike the cubicle-style dressing rooms of the previous stores, this one was more in line with the boutique shopping that Peter preferred.

A room out the back of the store alternated proper length doors with full length mirrors, a plush circular couch in the centre of the room for companion seating. There was a rack off to one side for discards, and a shop assistant constantly poking their head in every other minute to check that nobody needed any help or other sizes.

Peter bee-lined for a corner cubicle, only slightly annoyed to find there was no mirror in the tiny room and he'd have to walk out to see how things looked on him. He heard Derek take a seat on the couch and bent down to take off his shoes – Peter knew from experience how difficult it was to try and force shoes through slim-cut pant legs.

“I still have to get books and stuff after this,” Derek said after a moment, over the sound of Peter shucking off his jeans. “Is that okay?”

“I don't mind,” Peter replied, carefully sliding the first pair of pants up his legs. “It's for a good cause, after all. Education. It can't go astray.”

“You're not doing anything with yours.”

Peter paused thoughtfully, head cocked to one side as he considered. “You have a point,” he conceded, doing up the fly. “Maybe I should submit my resume to the DA's office. ADA Strauss has to die some time,” he added drily, referencing Beacon County's oldest and second-most respected law official. He smoothed his hands down his thighs to get rid of any wrinkles, then opened the door and stepped out into the change-room proper, arms spread. “Well?”

Derek looked at him and blinked, then swallowed and cleared his throat. “Those aren't jeans.”

“No, they're very nice chinos.” Peter turned slowly on the spot in his socked feet. “And you're supposed to tell me what you think.”

“They look good. They're... are they meant to be that tight though?”

“Tight?” Peter looked over his shoulder at his nephew, amused. “They're slim cut, if that's what you mean. Ass-hugging. Take notes, if you want to impress anyone in your future.”

Through the mirror Peter saw Derek rub the back of his neck, gaze fixed on the floor. Derek looked up then, their eyes catching through their reflections. It occurred to Peter that he probably shouldn't be talking to his nephew about ass-hugging pants.

“Next pair,” Peter announced, breaking the connection in order to sweep back into the cubicle. “And these ones _are_ jeans,” he informed the teen through the door. The sound of the zipper seemed unnaturally loud.

“I like those ones better,” Derek said when Peter emerged from the cubicle again, though there was an odd stutter to his heartbeat that indicated he might have been lying. He looked his uncle up and down, then nodded decisively. “Yep. Those ones.”

“You haven't even seen the back,” Peter pointed out, much to the silent screaming of his better nature. He turned around, watching his nephew like a hawk through the mirror. “You're sure the other pair isn't better?”

He watched Derek's eyes zero in on his ass before the boy's gaze flicked self-consciously away again. “This pair,” Derek said to the wall, his voice firm.

Peter turned back around again, nostrils flaring at the faint hints of hot-sweet want and bitter-acrid embarrassment tainting the air. He walked up to his nephew, putting himself in Derek's direct line of sight. “I liked the other pair better.”

“Sure,” Derek replied, eyes locking with his uncle's and not looking away, “if you never want to sit down.”

Peter grinned. He chucked the young teen gently under the chin and took a step back, slowly moving backwards towards the change cubicle. “Don't be silly, Derek. They look even better when I sit.”

“Manwhore,” Derek accused.

“Prude,” Peter fired back through the door.

“I'll tell mom you're corrupting me.”

“Then I wont buy you ice cream on the way home.”

“...fuck. I hate you.”

Peter laughed. He pulled his old jeans back on and slipped his feet back into his loafers. He didn't want to think about how he felt so much better here, now, than he had any time in the last five years. Or ever, really. Since the mother he couldn't remember had died, maybe. Since Talia, since the boys at school, since Caroline and Daniel, since he first realised he was fucked up inside and only going to get worse.

-

_Alpha, beta, omega. Say it with me, Peter. Alpha... beta... omega. Each one can become the other. A cycle, never ending. That's the nature of our kind. Focus on that thought, and that thought alone. Alpha. Becomes beta... becomes omega... becomes alpha again. _

_That's how we maintain control over ourselves. We think about the balance achieved by the world around us. We think about our place in the balance, and what we have to do to keep it._

_We control our wolf, the wolf doesn't control us._

_Good, see? Soon you won't even need the chains._

-

It was time to go out, pretend to get drunk, and get laid.

Peter had been home for a couple of months and he'd spent the majority of that time either around the house or idly checking out the various coffee shops that Beacon Hills had to offer and testing them for quality. Schools were about to start again soon. Without any of the kids around during the day the Hale house would suddenly get very quiet.

Talia might actually get on his back about putting his law degree to use.

Actually, that part he wouldn't mind so much. He was used to his sister getting on his back about things now and then.

The part that bothered him was the quiet. No Cora to insist that he play hide and seek in the woods, no Laura to play chess against and discuss modern politics... And no Derek. Full stop.

When the schools opened again Derek would begin his freshman year, surrounded by boys and girls his age. Girls who would take one look at the filling-out that his nephew had done over the summer and unanimously decide that he was now Beacon High's most eligible bachelor.

After considering what little nightlife there was in the town, Peter discovered that a gay club had miraculously popped into existence while he'd been gone. Which brought the town's number of dedicated clubs up to a total of two – the rest were bars that happened to have dance floors, their atmosphere such that they didn't really count.

A snap decision, a pair of sexy jeans, and Peter easily bypassed the line to get into 'The Jungle'.

He went straight for the bar and ordered a drink, scanning the crowd while he waited.

There was the usual crowd of stereotypes, dressed up to play the part so that everyone would know exactly what they were getting into should they approach. A handful of drag queens in the corner, a couple of club kids sporting looks from the late nineties, a leather-daddy showing off a bare chest beneath a studded harness.

Not what Peter was looking for.

He threw back his drink and headed for the dance floor. Half an hour later he was receiving a blowjob from a twink in a mesh top, his back against the graffiti-covered wall of a bathroom stall. He threaded his fingers through the boy's blonde hair and imagined it black instead.

“Tell me you have a room to yourself somewhere,” Peter said after, fly still open, crowding the boy back against the other side of the stall. “I don't even care if you still live with your parents, I want to take you home and fuck you hard.”

“I'm not as young as I look,” the boy replied breathlessly, his hands on Peter's hips, “I have my own place, no room-mates.”

“Good.”

He'd do for a distraction. A pre-emptive outlet for Peter's jealousy. A healthy coping mechanism with a tight, perky ass and no expectations. Just what the witchdoctor ordered.

-

_Whoa! Excuse me, totally didn't mean to just barge in or whatever. I just need my... notes. There they are! Jesus. Averting my eyes 'cos I also still need my textbook and..._

_I'm going! I'm going! Jeez..._

_I didn't think you were gay though?_

_What? Jesus, I'm going! You gay guys are so touchy – fine! Bi, whatever._

_Bye._


	3. Chapter Three - A Grey Area, Morally Speaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Circumstances (and Peter) conspire to create a tragedy made of good intentions, followed by existential dread in a hotel room.

The thing about predictions was that sometimes all it took for one to come true was to make the prediction in the first place. Self-fulfilling prophecies were usually linked to some kind of self-sabotage... But sometimes the universe just liked fucking with people.

The universe loved fucking with Peter.

School had been back for all of a week when suddenly a new name started getting thrown around over the dinner table.

'Paige'.

And the very second Derek spoke the girl's name, Peter knew something terrible was going to happen. The horrible little bitch was going to wind up dating his nephew.

Because it was classic. Every complaint Derek made about her sounded more and more like compliments in disguise. Paige is so stuck up, all she cares about is her music, she's so annoying, she thinks she knows everything. Peter wanted to throw up.

Literally. He actually threw up late one night after thinking about the inevitability of Derek and the one girl that didn't seem to automatically fall down at his feet. Jealousy coiled in his gut, sitting heavy in his stomach as if he'd somehow swallowed a boulder. He went out immediately after, looking for a distraction to take his mind off things he couldn't (and shouldn't) have.

Naturally, Derek announced that he was dating her barely a week later.

“My baby's first girlfriend,” Talia mused one evening when it was just the two of them in her study, the kids and Camille all downstairs watching a movie. “I'm not sure if I should be proud or worried.”

“As long as he knows how to use condoms,” Peter snarked, arms crossed and a look of carefully curated boredom on his face.

“Peter,” his sister scolded, though she looked like she might be fighting a smile.

“What? I doubt you want to be explaining 'the wolves and the trees' to a fourteen year old and her parents.” Or thinking about her son as a teenage father.

“Derek knows how to use protection,” Talia informed her brother, more amused than annoyed. “Or he'd better, after that talk we had, and Beacon High is pretty progressive when it comes to sex ed in school. They gave Laura's class free condoms last year during sex education week.”

“That's not what I remember,” Peter said drily. “Obviously they changed their program.”

“In any case I don't want to think about any of my kids being sexually active,” Talia finished, clearly deciding to ignore her brother's comment on the effectiveness of sex ed. “You'll understand that when you have your own.”

“Heaven forbid.”

“Of course you'll need to settle down first.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “It'll be a cold day in hell before I willingly father children.”

Talia smiled at him, wagging her finger triumphantly. “You didn't say you wouldn't settle down though.”

-

_What you said to me just now, you will never say to me ever again. Do you understand me? That was vile, Peter. It was hateful, and it was misogynistic, and I won't stand for it either as your sister or as your alpha. It is none of your business who the father of my child is – who any of their fathers are – and the fact that you think it even matters says more about you than it does about me._

_It doesn't matter if I never choose to settle down. I wanted kids, I do not want a husband. If you can't handle that, then you can leave. It's your choice._

-

Derek's little whirlwind romance continued unabated. Every time it came up Peter grit his teeth and pretended to be happy about it for his nephew's sake. He dug his claws into his palms just enough to hurt and kept a smile on his face, using meditation techniques to keep his heartbeat steady and his scent neutral.

_Of_ _course_ he was happy to hear about his nephew's first love.

Of course he didn't want to track her down and rip her tongue out through her throat. That would be silly. And also, where would he even hide the body?

“She'll never really be able to understand you, you know,” Peter said one afternoon, his mouth running away from him. “Do you think she wonders what you're not telling her? She has to have noticed something's _different _than all the other boys. Is she the type to scream at monsters, do you think?”

Derek looked uncomfortable. He fiddled with his straw, came close to spilling his drink, and finally put his palms flat against the table. “We're not monsters,” he said flatly.

“Does she know that? Werewolves are pure hammer horror,” Peter pointed out, part of him wanting to stop and part of him wanting to push and push and push until the happy little couple broke up and went their separate ways. “Name one movie that shows us in a positive light. One book. One TV show. It's all terror and blood and screaming. Why do you think hunters are so convinced we're rabid?”

“Paige isn't like that,” Derek insisted, frowning in a way that made Peter's heart hurt. “She doesn't judge things from the outside.”

“Are you _sure_?”

Derek didn't answer, instead looking troubled.

“I'm only looking out for you,” Peter told him, the bare-faced lie swept away by the breeze. “Marissa broke up with me because of what I am,” he added, which made Derek look up at him sharply. “She couldn't handle it, and she left. Oh, she never told anyone. I doubt she ever would. But she still left me.”

Of course, he hadn't actually told Marissa anything and that was why she'd broken it off. Because of who Peter was. Because he hadn't wanted to share anything with her, and hadn't been nearly as invested in their relationship as she was.

“Trust me, Derek,” Peter's mouth continued without his permission, “unless she's a wolf herself, she'll leave you.”

-

So it was his fault.

His fault what happened.

-

Derek came to him after school one day. Coincidentally just a few hours after Talia had informed him of a very important event to be taking place on short notice in Beacon Hills territory. A very important event involving several different packs and a host of hunters. Which Talia very politely told him to stay out of for his own good, since his particular brand of charm wouldn't be much help to her there.

Jonathan and Camille would be going with her instead, which suited him just fine.

Peter was in his bedroom, musing over the implications of Talia's very important event when Derek found him. His nephew looked nervous, oddly twitchy for a boy who was usually so confident.

“I need your help,” Derek said, not quite able to look his uncle in the eye.

Peter looked him over, considered his posture and the odd notes in his scent, and gestured for Derek to come sit down on the bed beside him. “Anything, duckling. Come tell Uncle Peter what's wrong.”

Derek shook his head. “Not here. Can we go somewhere else? Somewhere nobody can hear?”

Peter's eyebrows raised. “Alright,” he agreed. “Lets go for a walk.”

The preserve was the perfect place to talk. It was large enough that you could wander in practically any direction and never come across another soul, the ground littered with dry leaves and sticks that would make plenty of noise if someone did happen to be nearby. Peter led them into the woods away from any of the hiking trails, headed towards the creek for the extra sound to help stop their voices from travelling.

If Derek wanted something to be kept a secret, Peter was going to make sure he kept it secret.

His nephew waited until they were a decent distance from the house before he spoke, eyes on the ground. “I... was thinking about what you said. About Paige not understanding.”

“Right?” Peter prompted gently.

“And I thought... If she's a wolf, she'll understand, right?”

“Right,” Peter said again, getting a feeling like he knew where this was going.

“If she's a wolf...” Derek looked away, then looked directly at Peter with a strange, desperate look in his eyes, “then we wont have any reason not to be together. Ever.”

So it was that serious then.

Peter didn't kid himself by thinking that young love could be any less real or intense than when adults loved. More innocent, yes. Not less real. If Derek thought he wanted to be with Paige forever, then it was quite likely that (at least right now) he really wanted to be with Paige forever. He remembered reading it somewhere in one of the books they had, back when he was desperately trying to explain to himself why he couldn't just be normal. Back before he'd accepted the inevitability of his death at Talia's hands. Sometimes wolves – like their animal counterparts – mated for life.

A vice clamped tight around Peter's heart, squeezing the air from his lungs in a great whoosh of a sigh.

“Talia will never do it,” he said bluntly.

Oh, it would hurt. It would hurt so much trying to reign himself in, trying not to be jealous, trying to just be happy for his beloved little duckling. But it was a solution. Right there.

He could make his nephew happy. He could keep himself from doing anything stupid. Talia might hate him for it, but she'd hate him less for turning Paige than she would have for wanting her son.

“I know,” Derek replied, shoulders squared. “That's why I'm asking you.”

“Well...” Peter considered again the implications of Talia's upcoming very important event. He tried not to think about the chance the bite wouldn't take, though a malicious voice in the back of his head whispered that it would be the perfect way to get rid of her without ever getting his hands dirty. “Did you happen to hear about the packs that are coming to Beacon Hills...? I might be able to convince someone to do us a favour.”

-

_Why doesn't cousin Robert take the bite? That's a good question, Petey. I think you're old enough now to learn a little bit about it._

_See, sweetie... Not everyone wants to be a werewolf. I know! It seems silly to you and me because we were born that way. There are lots of benefits to being a wolf, but there are benefits to being a human too. Just like we can do things that they can't do, they can do things that we can't too. Like with mountain ash and wolfsbane. Sometimes we need to use those things, and if there's no human to help us then we can't._

_Well it's not just that. If someone is a human and wants the bite, they have to be very, very sure because sometimes it doesn't always go right. Sometimes... Sometimes, sweetie, something goes wrong and the bite doesn't take._

_It's like... You know how sometimes cousin Robert gets sick? Yes, like with a cold. Well sometimes when a human gets bitten instead of becoming like us they get sick. Very sick. And unlike a cold, they don't ever get better._

_So, you see, Robert decided that he's happy the way he is._

-

Peter had never seen bite rejection in person before. He'd been told about it, had read about it, but had never actually seen the effects for himself. All the books had said it was painful, like an accelerated version of a terminal disease. They hadn't mentioned the smell, or the raw horror of seeing something so horrible happen to someone who didn't deserve it.

And the guilt... the guilt was gnawing at his spine, warring with the sick satisfaction of his rival being gone.

Because part of him was glad. He was fucking happy that Paige had died, and that it had been agony. And the guilt, the horror of it, was all over seeing how it had affected his nephew. _He'd_ caused that look on Derek's face. _He'd_ made the boy's eyes turn blue.

He told himself that he only wanted to make Derek happy, but deep down he'd always known that _this_ – bite rejection – was a possibility.

Men make plans and the gods laugh.

Peter had arranged everything behind Talia's back, knowing that his sister would never approve of what they were planning. He'd approached one of the alphas who were in town, one he knew wasn't quite as smart as the others. It had been easy to talk that alpha into the idea of biting Paige. A favour for the Hale pack, and if it didn't work out quite as planned then the alpha would still have a new beta to replace one recently lost. A win-win for everybody.

All Derek had to do was get Paige to the school.

All Ennis had to do was bite her.

And all Peter had to do was sit back and watch as it all went horribly, horribly wrong.

-

The confluence of events after Paige's death meant that he never even got blamed. Ennis kept his mouth shut about who put him up to it, insisting he'd just thought the girl would make a good wolf and a replacement for the beta he'd lost. Derek was silent, a shadow of himself that smelled like guilt and misery. Talia, distracted by the goings-on at her diplomatic alpha summit, came to her own conclusions and that was that.

Peter was off the hook, merely a concerned family member like the rest of them.

It made him feel like shit, while also relieved that he wouldn't have to deal with the consequences.

Seeing Derek so lost was consequence enough.

“I never should've asked you,” Derek said to him one day when they were alone, his voice dull and his eyes red-rimmed. “I should've known better. Then she'd still be alive.”

The idea that Derek was blaming himself only made Peter feel worse, his guilt doubling back on itself and folding into a sickly knot that sat heavy in his throat.

“No, duckling.” Peter put an arm around his nephew's shoulders, gently drawing the boy into his arms. “_I_ should have known better. I could've said no. I could've talked you out of it.”

His nephew laughed bitterly. A single, harsh sound muffled by Peter's chest. “No you couldn't.”

“Maybe not,” Peter conceded. Hales were notoriously stubborn, after all. He rubbed soothing circles on the teen's back, thinking about everything that could have gone differently if only he weren't such a selfish creature. “But I could've told Talia what you were thinking. I could've refused to get involved. Without me, Ennis would never have listened. He'd have laughed at you if you came asking for a favour and any of the others would have gone straight to your mother.”

“Mom says I did the right thing... Putting her out of her misery.”

“You did. I would have done it too.” Peter hesitated, then added sincerely; “Blue is a beautiful colour. It's not a mark of shame, Derek. Not in my eyes.”

-

Though he understood it, it still hurt to see Derek pull away from everyone.

Paige's body was found in the woods the day after she died, all evidence of bite rejection carefully covered up and wounds strategically inflicted on her body to make it look as if she'd died by animal attack. Everyone knew there were mountain lions in the preserve, so it wasn't that difficult to sell.

The high school offered grief counselling to anyone who needed it, but Derek refused to go. Peter could see the way the boy's friends tip-toed around him for a while, but it didn't last. Paige had been a loner, and it was hard to feel genuine grief for someone you didn't know. There was a very nice memorial service and then everyone moved on.

Everyone except the girl's parents, who had lost a child... And Derek, who had killed his first love to spare her the pain of a slow death.

As if he were mirroring his girlfriend's former life, Derek pulled away from his friends. He became quiet. Withdrawn. Depressed.

He started having trouble controlling his wolf – something that Talia attributed to her son having lost his anchor.

Hearing that had hit Peter like a punch to the gut.

Paige had been his nephew's anchor, and Peter had wanted to take that away from him.

_Look at what you did_, his own voice hissed, angry at himself for ever thinking that getting rid of Paige could be any kind of answer. _You knew, you selfish piece of shit. You told yourself you were doing it to make Derek happy, but you knew there was a chance it wouldn't take_.

He tried to make it better, tried to be there for Derek and coach him through finding a new anchor. Tried not to let on how much it killed him that he'd been the one to take it away. Only it didn't seem to help. If anything, Peter's presence seemed to make it harder for Derek to maintain control.

And eventually it all came to a head.

Eventually, Talia called him into her study.

She had a grim look on her face, her arms crossed over her chest and spine rigid. Her words were clipped, voice holding a hint of alpha command; “Shut the door, Peter.”

Peter hesitated, a sixth sense making him wonder if he wouldn't be better off running. Whatever she wanted to talk to him about, it wasn't good. If he ran though, she would catch him. As an alpha, Talia was stronger than him, faster than him, and capable of literally ripping him apart should she want to.

He really hoped she didn't want to.

Peter shut the door. “You wanted to see me?” he asked, as casually as possible while silently freaking out over his sister's posture and tone. He stayed on the opposite side of the room, as if that would help at all when clearly she knew something and was intent on dragging it out to light.

“I want to know how you feel about my son.”

Peter froze, ice trickling down his spine.

Talia stared at him. Her eyes held a hint of alpha-red, her voice nothing but steel. Sharp, designed to cut.

Jesus Christ, she _knew_.

Peter swallowed, forcing himself past the moment of panic that had threatened to overtake him. He concentrated on keeping his heart steady, all of his thoughts focused on remaining calm in the face of his sister's ire. He'd been on the receiving end of her anger before, but never like this. Lectures and groundings paled in comparison to the look in her eyes now.

“I don't know what you mean,” he started, keeping his tone pleasantly neutral. “He's your son, he's family.”

“Cut the bullshit, Peter. I said to myself I'd give you a chance, but I have to warn you that my patience right now is thin and if you test me on this I won't just let it slide. Tell me,” Talia ordered, the alpha command pressing down on him and demanding cooperation, “how you feel about my son. And don't lie. If you lie to me, I swear I'll cut you in half.”

Peter looked away, his eyes sliding to the book shelves and the wall rather than look his sister in the eye. “I love him.”

“You love him like he's your family?” Talia pressed, making Peter wince. “Or you love him like you shouldn't?”

“No.”

“What's that?”

Peter hesitated, his instincts for self preservation telling him he shouldn't say it. Only his alpha had ordered him to, and he couldn't ignore his _alpha_ the way he could ignore his _sister_. “I love him,” Peter confessed thickly, accepting that this was it and she was likely going to murder him, “in a way I shouldn't. I always have.”

“Peter...” She sounded so disappointed. As if she'd been hoping he'd say something else. Hoping that he wouldn't tell her what she must have already known.

“It wasn't – I didn't _do_ anything, Tally,” Peter explained desperately, just hoping she'd let him do that much and explain. “It was different before I left for college – it wasn't the same – I knew I loved him too much but it wasn't wrong. I didn't want to touch him, I just wanted to – to _be_. And then I left and I thought everything would be fine, I thought it would _change_ something but it didn't. It just got worse. I was empty, Tally! Just empty. There was nothing I could – and then I came back. I shouldn't have. I should have just stayed away. I'm sorry. I know you must hate me, but I promise I never _did_ anything.”

Except flirt, and tease, and interfere and get Derek's girlfriend killed.

It would serve him right if she didn't listen.

Talia sighed, the anger draining from her body. Her arms unfolded, her shoulders slumped in a way he'd never seen before. “I know,” she said, sounding so incredibly sad. “I know you haven't.”

“What?” Surprised, the word jumped out before he could stop it. Peter twitched, nearly slapping a hand over his mouth as if he could retroactively keep it from being said.

“I want to say I should have paid more attention and seen what was going on with you,” Talia continued, “but I didn't. I don't think I could have, you were so very good at keeping your feelings to yourself. You always have been, haven't you, Petey? No, I know you haven't done anything. If I'm right, you're about as likely to intentionally hurt Derek as you are to sprout feathers and fly away. I don't want to be right,” she continued, only adding to Peter's growing confusion, “but there's an alpha's folly for you.”

“Tally...” Peter considered what he was going to say and the likelihood of getting mauled. “I'm not sure what's going on. Aren't you mad at me?”

“No. Yes,” Talia corrected herself after a moment. “I'm mad at myself too.” She looked away, to the right towards Beacon Hills, then back at her brother. “There are some things that need to be done before I can decide for sure how I feel. In the meantime I want you to get out of the house. Don't leave, just... check into a hotel for a couple of days. I need some time. Do you understand?”

“I...” No, he did not. “Yes,” Peter said.

“Keep your phone on you. I'll call you when I want you to come back.”

“Yes,” Peter said again, practically sick with relief that he wasn't being flayed alive or told to leave for good.

“Don't make me regret this, Peter.” Talia shook her head. She turned away towards her desk and reached for the landline phone. “You can go.”

Peter left before she changed her mind, too quickly to find out who it was she planned on calling.

-

Not wanting to test his sister's patience, Peter didn't bother packing an overnight bag. He left with nothing but the clothes on his back and his wallet. His phone too, because Talia had said she would call.

He wasn't worried about her using his cell phone to track him. All she'd have to do to track him was look for his car, or use her senses to track him through town.

He checked into a hotel in Beacon Hills proper. The closest thing the town had to anything truly upscale, because if he was going to be hunkering down and waiting for his alpha to decide his fate he was going to do it in relative luxury. With a proper bathroom and a decent mini-bar.

A nice bed didn't hurt either. Though truthfully Peter didn't spend much time in it, too restless to sleep. Instead he paced back and forth across the hotel room, fussed with the lights and the air conditioning, and flipped through the room service menu so many times that by morning it was wrinkled and falling apart.

During the day he checked his phone obsessively, waiting for a call or a text that never came.

Eventually he gave up on staying indoors and went out for a walk only to find himself unable to decide where to go. He felt untethered. Lost in a way he hadn't felt before, not even when he'd left for New York at eighteen, planning for a future that was unfolding in front of him.

Self fulfilling prophecies and all that.

Back then the idea that he might lose his place in the pack was something he'd thought manageable. An abstract idea and something he needed to plan for, but not something to lose any sleep over. It's not like he really cared for the extended pack. He didn’t actually hate the idea of never seeing his cousins again.

Even now it wasn't really the thought that he'd be booted from the pack that had him anxiously checking his phone for the thousandth time.

It was the thought that if Talia made him leave for good then he'd never be able to see his nephew again. Derek would be forever lost to him. In that way it would be worse than dying. It would be like losing a part of himself. He'd need to learn to live with that emptiness all over again, the hole in his heart that ached with unfathomable loss.

Which was ridiculous, because he'd never really had Derek to begin with.

He should probably start looking into getting himself a therapist. Peter was sure he'd make a fantastic case study – adult male presenting with symptoms indicative of psychopathy (Peter wasn't an idiot, he knew he fit the criteria), also including schizoid delusions and an unhealthy attachment to a young male family member.

Finally, after the thousandth-and-third time he checked his phone, Peter was rewarded with the beep of a text message.

_Come to the Veterinary Clinic. Use the back door. Don't keep me waiting._

It was very like Talia to text with perfect grammar.

-

The back room of the Beacon Hills Veterinary Clinic looked exactly like Peter imagined any back room at a vet would look like. It was clean, a steel table in the centre and cabinets lining the walls, a desk with a computer set off to one side with a printer for writing prescriptions and instructions to hapless animal owners. It smelled sterile too, like antiseptic and pet shampoo. He was surprised there wasn't much in the way of animal smell, except for a faint waft coming from the door that led to the rest of the clinic.

Talia stood there on one side of the steel table, looking as though she'd rather be anywhere but here, her arms crossed in front of her. Beside her stood a man that Peter recognised as the town vet, an annoyingly enigmatic air about him and a faint smile on his lips.

And there, standing on his mother's other side and looking oddly small and shame-faced, was Derek.

Peter paused, willing his traitorous heart to stay under control.

“Come in, please,” the vet said, while Talia simply stood there impassive. “And stand on the other side of the table if you would.”

Peter waited for his sister's imperceptible nod before he moved, unwilling to risk the wrath of an alpha should she not want him that close to her baby. He stood by the table opposite the other three, trying not to let his nerves get the better of him. And bit his tongue, just in case it decided to take on a life of its own and admit to any more damning truths.

“I haven't had to do this in a while,” the vet continued calmly, “so forgive me if this takes a moment.” He pulled a bag from beneath the table and got to work extracting things from it one by one. A polished wooden board. A piece of glass. Two large needles. Each item was placed carefully on the table, glass on top of wood, and the needles beside them. A circle of ash was next, enclosing the items in a ring of black dust.

A vial of oil was the last item, which the vet uncorked immediately.

With precise, careful movements the vet dipped a fingertip into the oil and used it to draw a sigil that Peter didn’t recognise onto the glass. Once the sigil was complete the man stoppered the vial and set it aside.

“Hands, please.” He said, smiling gently.

Both Derek and Peter looked at Talia for instruction. She sighed and nodded. “It's okay,” she said, mainly to her son, “just hold your hand out.”

“Palm up,” the vet added.

Warily, Peter did as instructed and held his hand out, palm up. On the opposite side of the table Derek did the same, looking even less comfortable than Peter felt.

The vet picked up one of the needles and without preamble stabbed it into the tip of Derek's pointer-finger. He drew the needle away just as quick, before the teen had ever had time to yank his hand back, a drop of blood clinging to the pointy tip.

Hand smooth and steady, the vet let the blood drip down onto one end of the glass plate. He set that needle aside and picked up the other.

“If you please?” he asked Peter, indicating that he should hold his hand out closer so the vet could stab him without needing to reach over.

Peter cursed under his breath. He spared a quick glance at his sister, thinking about the likelihood of getting out of this without being poked by needles. One look at her stony face and he dutifully held out his hand.

Better a short, sharp stabbing with a needle than all five of an alpha's claws.

The needle jabbed into his flesh, deep enough that he would swear it hit bone, and then the vet was dripping Peter's blood down onto the plate on the opposite side to Derek's blood-drop.

Half expecting chanting or some other nonsense, Peter was surprised when all the vet did was stand back and look satisfied. “That should do it,” the man said in confirmation, both his eyes and Talia's firmly locked on the glass.

“How long does it –” Talia began to ask. She stopped abruptly, an odd look on her face that made it look like she was holding back a sneeze.

Peter was about to ask what the hell was going on when he noticed it. The blood drops were moving. They slid along the glass slowly, leaving no residue behind in their wake – twin globules of crimson red steadily inching along until they met in the middle of the plate. And combined into one larger drop that slowly changed colour into the dark blue-purple of deoxygenated blood.

Talia stepped back, a hand over her mouth.

She turned away, her eyes squeezed shut.

“There you have it,” the vet said, and nodded to Peter as if that should mean something. “Congratulations.”

Peter's mouth opened, but Derek beat him to it. His voice was soft and very confused as he asked; “What the fuck?”

-

_Peter, you can't just go telling Laura stories like that._

_Of course she's going to say she can handle it, kids always say they can handle it. But she's only five. It's up to you to use your brain and realise what is and is not an appropriate bedtime story for a five year old._

_Stories that involve heads being chopped off are usually not what we'd consider appropriate... I don't care if it's historical. If it's something that will give her nightmares, we don't talk about it before bed._

_Then next time she wakes up crying you can let her sleep in your bed._


	4. Chapter Four - One Good Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek, so far as we can tell, gets the reassurances he's been waiting for as meanwhile for the first time in what may be his entire life, Peter gets to experience what it's like to be happy without strings attached. And then it all goes to hell.

It had taken Peter until he was in high school to learn that his mother had committed suicide.

Her death just wasn't something that got talked about in the Hale house.

Peter could even remember a time when he was very young that he'd thought Talia was his mother, not just the sister that had raised him. She'd corrected that notion as gently as she could, but the lesson had stung. He was pretty sure it was the first time he'd ever heard her acknowledge that their mother had died and wasn't just somehow _absent_. She hadn't brought it up again for a long time, not until Peter got sick of the word 'orphan' being thrown at his face as if it were a terrible transgression.

Children could be incredibly cruel.

Even then she'd never told him how their mother had died.

He'd found it out himself one afternoon in the library after school, reading the words in microfiche newsprint. Sylvia Mae Hale had committed suicide after discovering that her husband, David, had been pronounced dead at the scene of a tragic vehicular accident. Until that time, Peter hadn't even known what his father's name was.

He hadn't had cause to look at his birth certificate. He'd just assumed that, like with Talia's children, there would be no name listed.

Werewolves didn't particularly care about bloodlines, not even back when being a single mother was still considered shameful. Not when the alpha spark simply passed to whichever child was supposedly the most capable, regardless of family name or gender. (Not when the alpha spark could be taken by violence, rendering an entire family legacy moot.) Hale was only the name their mother's mother had married into, not the origin of their supernatural gifts.

The point was, Peter's father had been named David and he'd meant the world to his mother. Enough so that she had taken her own life rather than live without him, even with a small child to care for.

The point was, Sylvia and David had been heart-mates.

A rare – but not too rare, the vet had explained – phenomenon. Two people, inexorably drawn to one another, who were supposedly one another's perfect match. Bound together in a way that most people would never experience.

Soulmates, essentially.

A blessing and a curse in equal measures, depending on what book you read or which stories you heard. Apparently there were books down in the vault full of stories involving heart-mates. Talia had kept them locked up in a safe, underneath stacks of old paperwork. Out of reach of curious little brothers or of children who didn't know any better.

Peter had laughed.

While Derek had stared in shock, Peter had laughed himself sick.

Because fuck Talia. Fuck what she'd thought was best for him. Fuck her and the innocent mistakes she'd made in her parenting (of both him and his nephew). He'd thought he was sick. He'd thought there was something _wrong_ with him.

And there was – of course there was – just not the way he'd thought.

“You fucking bitch,” Peter gasped out between slightly hysterical cackling. “You bitch. Holier than thou alpha bitch.”

Talia drew back into alpha-wolf posture, affronted. “Peter,” she said warningly.

“You let me think I was fucking broken,” Peter continued, laughter dying away as the hurt and the anger rose up in him, “for _years_. You couldn't have just told me why our mother died? You couldn't have told me so I'd know I wasn't fucking crazy!?”

“Peter.” Sharp this time, her eyes flashing red. “You will not talk to me that way.”

“Go to hell,” Peter shot back, practically a snarl.

“I'll let it slide this once,” Talia told him, voice made of steel, “because I understand that you're feeling emotional. This is an emotional thing for all of us, Peter. Not just you. You're not the only one feeling upset and angry right now.”

“No,” Peter spat the word. “I imagine you're also angry that you can't just get rid of me to fix the problem.”

The dots had connected for him while the emissary had explained. The emptiness he'd felt while he'd been away at school was just the tip of the iceberg. Presumably it had only been that bad and not worse because he and Derek hadn't actually bonded the way a romantic couple would have.

If Talia made him leave – the pack, Beacon Hills – she'd be subjecting her son to that emptiness. Or maybe worse. According to the lore, the empty feeling never went away.

Talia puffed up, ready to unleash verbal hell on her little brother.

“I killed Paige.” Derek said suddenly. “I thought if she was a werewolf, maybe I'd love _her_ and not... I killed her. She's dead because I...” Derek glanced at Peter, then back at his mother. “I didn't know what to do. I thought there was something wrong with me. I _told_ you, and then you went and talked to Uncle Peter and he left. You didn't say anything. You let me think we were coming here because you'd told him and now he hated me.”

Talia's head jerked back as if she'd been hit, the steel gone from her. “Honey...”

Derek didn't answer her. Instead he looked back at Peter. He looked so young with tears rolling down his cheeks, too young to look so heartbroken.

“Duckling...” Peter choked. He opened his arms and suddenly Derek was there, his nephew's tears hot against his neck, arms tight around Peter's waist. “I could never hate you,” Peter whispered, lips against the side of Derek's head. “_Never_.”

Derek sobbed against Peter's shoulder, relief and exhaustion making him seem fragile. He'd probably slept about as well as Peter had, thoughts full of self-loathing and despair.

Across the room Talia deflated, all of the fight and the anger drained from her person at how thoroughly she'd failed her only son. Without trying, she'd hurt them both with only the best intentions.

“How could I have known?” she said softly, what Peter suspected was mostly to herself. “It's so rare... people are never born that close to their heart-mate.”

She raised both hands to rub wearily at her face, then let them drop to hang limp by her sides. “There will have to be some rules. I can't... I can't be happy about this. But I'll come up with some rules and...” Talia turned away, her scent sour with regret. “I can't be happy about this,” she repeated again and then walked off, leaving her brother and her son alone with the emissary.

-

Everything felt kind of surreal.

Peter sat on the couch in a lazy half-sprawl, one hand holding a book and the other lazily combing through his nephew's hair. Derek was lying across the other half of the couch, his head cushioned on Peter's thigh. He was watching some documentary show, the subject of which currently eluded Peter. Something about archaeology?

The TV show didn't matter. What did matter was the odd, contented feeling that warmed Peter's chest. He felt settled in his bones, like all the wrongs of life had been swept away (or were at least nothing he couldn't handle). Happy...

He'd never been truly, really happy before.

He kept thinking he was dreaming. Like any minute now he was going to wake up and all of this – this moment, this feeling – was going to vanish into nothingness. Maybe he'd wake up and find himself still in the hotel, the past few weeks nothing more than brain chemistry and wishful thinking.

Something pinched at his knee and Peter startled. He looked down at his lap to see Derek staring up at him. “What?”

“Don't think so hard,” Derek told him, the tip of a claw resting lightly against the fabric of Peter's pants. “You know that saying? Don't look a gift horse in the mouth? You're looking in it's mouth.”

“Did you just rip my pants?” Peter asked, leaning forward over his nephew to get a better look at the coin-sized hole at his knee.

“You'll get new pants,” Derek shrugged. And then, like the little shit that he was, poked a new hole into the fabric and pricked another tiny cut into his uncle's skin.

“Stop that!” Peter swatted his nephew's hand.

“I'll stop when you stop thinking.”

“That makes no sense,” Peter complained, a sound in his throat that was half-laugh and half-growl when he had to smack Derek's hand away again. “You shit, I _liked_ these pants!”

The teen grinned up at him, the expression wolfish. He moved as quickly as only a werewolf could and the next thing Peter knew the book was being snatched from his hand and tossed onto the other couch. “So get new ones,” Derek teased from his new position straddling Peter's thighs. “Just stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Peter tilted his head to the side slightly and considered the situation. He placed his hands lightly on his nephew's waist and adjusted his feet for better leverage. Then he flipped them both off the couch, tackling Derek to the floor with a solid 'thump'.

Derek laughed as they went, the sound both gleeful and wicked.

“Not in the house!” Talia's voice sailed in through the hallway to the kitchen, a routine admonishment in a house with teenage werewolves. “You play fight, you take it outdoors.” A beat. “And remember rule one!” Another beat. “And three!”

And from upstairs, a disgusted “ugh” that sounded vaguely like Laura.

Peter raised an eyebrow slightly. Derek raised one back. After a moment Peter sighed and stood. He retrieved his phone from the coffee table while his nephew got to his feet, then the both of them trooped out through the house to the back yard.

There was an old tire swing where yard transitioned into the trees of the preserve. Close enough to be within shouting range for a werewolf, but far enough away that nobody in the house would hear them speaking.

Peter leaned back against the tree, then let himself slide down until he was seated at its base with his legs stretched out in front of him and his back supported by the trunk. Derek followed suit, and then they were sitting side by side against the fir.

“But I am,” Peter admitted quietly. “Waiting for the other shoe to drop.” He reached out and took Derek's hand, linking their fingers together. “This doesn't feel real to me. I keep thinking I must be dreaming.”

“Nice dream...” Derek sighed. The teen tilted his head back to look up at the branches overhead. “I've been trying not to think about it. Mom's been... weirdly nice about everything –”

“She's been remarkably reasonable,” Peter agreed, dry as dust.

“– Everyone else is just... keeping their mouths shut. They either don't care or they're just going with what mom says because she's the alpha.” Derek shrugged. He squeezed his fingers gently. “It feels kind of weird that it's so easy.”

“It feels strange to not be miserable.”

Derek's mouth quirked up slightly. He nudged against Peter's shoulder with his own. “That's sad.”

Peter conceded the point with a nod. Then he smirked. “Then again, I just have to remember that if I were dreaming I wouldn't have any rules.”

Like he'd known it would, Derek's scent turned sweet with notes of arousal. Teenage hormones and libido – anything even vaguely referencing sex was an innuendo. Only now Peter could enjoy the smell (though not the act) without needing to feel guilty.

“You're fucking evil,” Derek accused, twisting to look at his uncle face on. “Now you have to kiss me.”

-

_Alright. These are your rules. I don't want to hear any argument, and I want you to nod now so I know you understand me... Good._

_One, under no circumstances is there to be any sex before Derek is at least sixteen. I could say eighteen and I'd have the law behind me on that one, so you'd best remember that before you even think about arguing... Yes. Kissing is fine. But that's all. Non negotiable._

_Two, in public there's no be no kissing, no hand-holding, nothing you wouldn't do to any other family member. The last thing we need is for someone to call CPS. God, hunters would be all over that – any excuse to harass a well known pack is an excuse they'll take. You will not give them any excuse._

_Three, if you go anywhere alone then you need to be contactable at all times. Being within howling distance doesn't count. There needs to be a phone on hand, no exceptions. I don't care who has it, but at least one of you must be reachable._

_Four, doors are to remain open at all times if you're alone. I don't care if it's a bathroom, a bedroom, or even the kitchen. Doors remain open. If doors do not remain open then I will remove the doors, then you can explain to the rest of the family why there are no more doors._

-

Beacon Hills had exactly one adult store.

One store to service the entire area – possibly the entire county, since Peter was certain he'd never come across any others in the vicinity. There were rumours of a brothel in the next town over, though nobody he knew seemed to be able to say where, but as far as pornography and sex toys there was only one place to go.

From the outside it looked fairly nondescript, only the name and the blacked-out windows to indicate it was anything but another slightly run down store on the dingier side of Beacon Hills. There was a liquor store on one side and a laundromat on the other, the adult store sitting in the middle like a bottle of hard cider sitting among the apple juice.

Most people tried to act casual about going in. Some people were good at it, some were bad at it, and the rest were men in shorts and stained t-shirts that seemed to exude an amount of creepiness that the shop clerks clearly didn't get paid enough to deal with.

Peter liked to think he fit into the first category – the people who were good at being casual.

Probably because anyone who's opinion on the subject he actually cared about wouldn't judge him for having an extant libido. Anyone else could shut the fuck up.

Unlike the outside, the inside of the store was a riot of colour.

Neon fairy lights hung from the ceiling below the fluorescents, providing a bit of extra colour to the ambient lighting. Shelves arranged to maximise the use of floor space were stacked full of items in brightly coloured packaging. Display costumes hung on one wall next to a rack of leather and latex suits, vying for attention with outlandishly tall stripper-heels and a mannequin dressed in a harness. On the opposite wall were shelves of DVDs, the screens above them playing music videos instead of porn.

And above it all, a step taller than the rest of the floor, was the sales counter with its racks of impulse-buy condoms and personal lubricants.

There may have only been one store to service the entirety of Beacon County, but it was a very thoroughly stocked store.

Nobody had to order their fetish gear online in Beacon Hills, Peter mused.

He supposed he could have ordered what he was after online. It wasn't like he was looking for anything out of the ordinary.

It's just that discreet packaging couldn't fool a wolf's nose and he'd rather not have anyone sniffing his mail. Plus there were shipping times to consider, and the fact that since Talia had informed the rest of the family about his and Derek's situation everyone had become a whole lot more insufferable than usual.

If someone wanted to go snooping around his room and just so happened to come across a couple of sex toys, fine. That was their problem. If he had a fleshlight shipped to their house – no matter that nobody should be opening his mail in the first place – then doubtless it would be his fault if anyone saw it.

Sex and sexuality had a precarious balance in a werewolf's life when children were around. Being too open could lead to children announcing things in public or making awkward statements in class that could easily be misconstrued. Being too prudish could just as easily do the same when little Timmy asked his teacher why mommy and daddy were making the funny noises again.

Peter wished his sister had figured out that balance when he was still a child.

Frankly he was in a strange and precarious situation himself when it came to sex and sexuality. One they definitely hadn't covered in any class or heart-to-heart with a parental figure.

Derek was fourteen... Did it make it better or worse if he added the 'and a half' to that?

_Definitely worse_, Peter thought with a wince. He perused the available choices on the shelf in front of him, looking for something tasteful and generic rather than something supposedly based on a real person.

Derek was midway between fourteen and fifteen. He had a teenager's libido. Aside from the age difference (and the familial tie) there wasn't anything inherently wrong with him being attracted to someone in their twenties. Teenagers got crushes on people in their twenties all the time. They masturbated to actors and singers and porn stars and teachers and blah blah blah.

Peter, on the other hand, was in his mid-twenties and madly in love but still masturbated to the thought of a slightly older Derek.

Which was strange, because he was – guiltily – physically attracted to his teenage nephew.

It's just that he couldn't seem to stop picturing the boy as being just a little taller, a little broader... a little less _fourteen and a half_. Maybe it was because that's what he'd been picturing for as long as he'd dared to even entertain the idea. Maybe he was picturing Derek at sixteen in some sort of bizarre subconscious countdown.

Maybe he should get two of these and gift one to his nephew.

And some decent lube, because his sister was too much of a prude to buy anything other than hand lotion and kleenex.

And a starter kit of anal plugs. Because apparently Peter was just that kind of man.

The kind of man who'd walk up to the counter and set down two fleshlights (with cases), a box of four plugs, two bottles of lube and a packet of wet wipes and not so much as bat an eye.

The kind of man who under any other circumstances would definitely be considered 'that creepy uncle' and not a thoughtful partner coming up with creative solutions to one-and-a-half years of sexual frustration.

If they listened very carefully it was easy enough to hear each other even when they were both locked away in their separate bedrooms.

Talia's rules didn't say anything about that.

-

_You wanted to know why I'm always so pissy with you lately? Fine. I'll tell you._

_I think this whole heart-mates thing is bullshit. Maybe it's real, but not for you. I think you've managed to convince mom that it's real for you so you can cover up just how much of a sick, perverted creep you are. I'm not convinced though. I remember what you were like before you left for New York – a distant, creepy loner who didn't care about anyone. Maybe you're not a proper pedo, but it's pretty obvious you like them young. I'm keeping my mouth shut for now because everyone seems to think you're just a victim of circumstance, but in a few years time when you lose interest and suddenly it's all 'oh, turns out we're not heart-mates after all' you can bet I'm going to be saying 'I told you so'. _

-

Derek's fifteenth birthday coincided with a weekend, and thus with a weekend family trip to the beach.

Between the lot of them there were surprisingly few cars – Talia had hers, Robert and Camille had another, and Peter's coupe brought the total up to three. Jonathan rode a motorbike, and Julie didn't seem to believe in owning motorised transport. Which meant that there were three cars – technically two, if you considered the size of Peter's car – with which to transport six adults, two teenagers, and three children under the age of ten. As well as whatever beach-going gear everyone wanted to bring along.

Peter stocked the boot of his car with towels and bottled water and didn't even bother joining in the debate on who was going to take the beach umbrellas and folding chairs.

Instead he leaned against the side of the Aston Martin and watched from behind a pair of designer shades.

Derek joined him a minute later, a backpack hanging from one shoulder. He took up position right next to his uncle, close enough that their elbows were brushing.

“I didn't know you owned shorts,” Derek commented with a smirk.

“I'm a man of many mysteries,” Peter replied.

“Is one of them why you're wearing sandals?”

“I hate driving barefoot and I hate sand in my shoes. If you have a better solution, I'm all ears.”

“You could just rinse the sand off before you put your shoes back on,” Derek suggested with a half-shrug.

“And suffer wet feet? Please.”

“You're so particular,” Derek grinned at him, eyes seeming to lock on his even through the mirror-lens of his sunglasses.

“I know what I like,” Peter's reply was pitched slightly lower than normal, his lips curling upwards.

Over at Talia's car the last of the beach gear had been stowed, the beach umbrella somehow having been successfully wedged in without poking out over the back seat. She shut the boot with a decisive thump and announced to the area at large; “Alright! Last chance to use the bathroom before we get going! Everybody know who's car they're in?”

There was a chorus of 'yes', only two voices piping up with 'no'.

“You're with me and your father, silly,” Camille said to one of them, herding her eldest to the appropriate car.

“We have space for one more,” Talia said to the second no, “but you'll have to be in the back.”

Peter just smiled, very glad that his back seat (or what passed for a back seat in a two-door sports car) was too small for anyone to want to sit back there. “Well,” he said to his nephew, “lets get going, shall we? I want to be on the road before we get stuck behind your mother's car and wind up arriving two hours later than expected.”

“I drive the speed limit, Peter,” Talia said, not even looking at him.

“Yes, the residential speed limit,” Peter retorted as he slipped into the driver's seat of his car, “even on the highway.”

Derek snorted a laugh and hopped in to the passenger's seat. He was still grinning when Peter drove away, leaving the rest of the family behind to sort out last minute seating changes and demands for the bathroom.

They drove in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Derek taking the time to fuss with the air conditioning and the radio. He set the music on low, just enough to have some nice background noise to listen to other than the white noise of the engine. Then he sat back in a comfortable lean, head angled to watch through the window as they passed through town.

“We should go to the beach sometime,” Derek spoke up suddenly, just past the 'now leaving Beacon Hills' sign. “Without everyone else. Just us.”

“Mm,” Peter hummed in agreement, “that would be nice.”

“Guess it would violate rule three though,” Derek sighed.

“Not when you're sixteen. When you're sixteen,” Peter added, “there are a lot of things I want to do with you. Places to go,” he clarified a half-second later. Thinking dirty thoughts in an enclosed space could only lead to trouble on a _family_ outing. “Local, interstate, international. I haven't travelled much, you know. It's something I'd like to do.”

“Me too,” Derek agreed, turning his face towards Peter with a smile. “I mean, I can't do much until I'm out of high school. There's summer, but that's about it. Mom would throw a fit if I tried taking time off.”

“So we'll go over summer. Once a year isn't bad.” Peter cocked his head to the side slightly, thinking. “A couple of weeks maybe, so nobody can claim that I'm doing it just to get you to myself – which I would be, of course _– _and so you can do homework. Do they still give out homework over the summer?”

“Yup.” Derek popped the 'p', sarcastically cheerful; “Beacon Hills supports academic achievement.”

Peter rolled his eyes. High school wasn't so far away that he'd forgotten what it was like. “Anyway, you should pick somewhere. For summer when you're sixteen. Your mother will get you driving lessons _–_” that's what she'd done for Peter, and for Laura. Apparently it was her go-to gift when someone turned sixteen “_– _and my official present will be a trip.”

“With you.” Derek flashed his uncle a charming grin. “So you said 'official present'. Does that mean you're getting me something unofficial?”

“Caught that, did you?” Peter returned the grin with one of his own, unable to resist telling the teenager; “Unofficially I'm going to take you to a hotel and fuck your brains out.”

Immediately the comfortable mix of scents inside the car changed to something far more heated. Derek's cheeks gained a nice flush, his scent mostly telegraphing want and just a faint hint of embarrassment.

“You asshole,” he accused, his own nostril's flaring and picking up Peter's answering scent-changes.

In a small space like the car it became a feedback loop. A dangerous thing if it went on too long – if only because it could easily end in Peter getting too distracted and letting the car drift into the wrong lane.

Peter laughed wickedly and pressed the button to wind down the windows. The fresh air whipped the scents away, replacing them with the smells of warm asphalt, dirt, and roadside vegetation.

They left the windows down for the rest of the trip, and by the time they actually arrived at the beach they'd half-planned a trip to Spain and discussed a few other places they'd eventually like to see together. It was nice, talking about the future like that. Peter had always known that travel was on the cards for him, though he'd never been too clear on the circumstances. Part of him had always assumed he'd be travelling alone, the bonds of pack and family stretched thin if not broken entirely. He liked knowing that it would be different than that. He'd be travelling with his beloved, with the acceptance (if not quite blessing) of most of their family.

He'd never have to worry about feeling so isolated or alone as he had during college.

As predicted, they arrived a good fifteen minutes before anyone else. Peter took that time to stretch after the long drive, and the enjoy the time with his nephew before the rest of the wolves descended on them.

Camille and Robert arrived next, their kids excitable little balls of energy that immediately wanted to run to the water. Jonathan, emerging from the backseat, looked as if he sorely regretted his travel choices.

Peter smirked at him and raised an eyebrow from behind his sunglasses. “So when are you and Julie reproducing?”

“When the adoption papers go through,” Jonathan replied with a wince, cracking his spine. “You?”

“Jon,” Camille scolded from half-way in the boot, Robert dutifully running the kids down to the water to play while the adults set up. “Derek's fifteen, that's definitely too young to be talking about kids!”

“Oh, we're not having kids,” Peter said easily. He popped the boot and retrieved an armful of towels to spread out on the sand.

“Are you sure about that?” Camille asked pointedly. She straightened, two bags full of beach gear slung over her shoulders. “I know I said fifteen is too young to actually have kids, but Peter, twenty-five is too young to decide you don't want them.”

Peter rolled his eyes and glanced at Derek, the younger wolf shaking his head. They'd had this conversation already between the two of them. The outcome was one that Camille probably wouldn't approve of.

“I was twenty-seven when I decided I wanted children,” Camille continued pointedly.

“Well I'm fifteen,” Derek interrupted her with a grin. “_Just_ fifteen. Which is _way_ too young to be thinking about kids, Camille! And when Peter's twenty-seven, I'll be seventeen. I'll be headed to college then and we won't have time for kids,” he shrugged expressively, arms going wide. “Maybe when I've got my doctorate degree in horticulture. Until then I'm gonna be way too busy studying.”

Peter suppressed a snort of laughter, pretending it was a cough. Towels laid out, he took off his sandals and wiggled his bare toes in the sand. “So we're agreed,” he said, as if it were actually a serious discussion and not just his nephew subtly making fun of their cousin. “No children until Derek is twenty-seven.”

“Exactly,” Derek agreed. “Race you to the water?”

-

_You know what really disturbs me about all this? What disturbs me is that mom should know better. She should be able to see through you, but for some reason she just can't. Maybe it's because you're her brother, I don't know. Actually, I don't care. Family loyalty shouldn't extend to people like you._

_Yeah, I don't care if you don't want to get into it. I keep my mouth shut around everyone else out of courtesy to them, not you. They've all bought into your crap hook, line and sinker and me calling them out on it isn't going to do jack shit. I figured that out pretty quick when mom gave me homework on pack lore and ordered me not to call the cops on you._

_That's right, the cops. If I didn't have a standing alpha-order you'd be behind bars so fast –_

_Don't walk away from me! You can't – … fuck you, Peter!_

_Things will be different when I'm alpha. I'm not gonna fall for your bullshit._

-

That summer was probably the best of Peter's entire life... They didn't go anywhere out of the ordinary, didn't do anything particularly special, but it was fantastic just the same. He spent most of it with his nephew, Derek having decided that his friends could do without him most days of the week.

They went on day trips together, skirting the rules with a precision attainable only thanks to Peter's years of studying law. He knew how to bend the law, or use it to someone's advantage.

There was nothing wrong with day trips, as long as one of them had a phone. PDA was a no-go, but was it really considered public if no-one was there to see? There was only one rule they agreed not to bend... If only because it would be impossible to hide.

Then the school year began and with nothing else to do during the day Peter finally (somewhat reluctantly) decided to put his degree to use as a freelance consultant. Something he found surprisingly easy to get into, considering Beacon Hill's general lack of consulting agencies, overabundance of small businesses, and the 'exorbitant' fees charged by the local law firms. It wasn't much in the way of work, but it kept him occupied for a few hours here and there.

It also got him invited to play golf with people he didn't like but who could be useful as contacts in the future.

Just in case anyone ever caught him kissing his underage nephew.

Or just in case his niece ever learned how to disobey a command from her alpha, Peter thought to himself, pointedly ignoring the way that Laura kept giving him dirty looks when nobody else was looking.

That was one thing that hadn't come right with time.

The rest of the family had come to terms with things – though her rules were still as strict as ever, Talia had even begun to hint at the idea of a wedding when Derek turned eighteen – but Laura was determined to hate him. It didn't matter to her that the pack emissary had confirmed their bond, or that there were books in the vault that described the phenomenon. She saw it as her uncle having tricked the rest of the family into believing a fairytale as an explanation for having groomed or coerced her younger brother into a relationship.

The worst part was, deep down, Peter sometimes wondered whether she wasn't right.

“... didn't come in to school on Monday,” Derek was saying when Peter snapped back to the conversation happening over the dinner table. “There's all sorts of rumours going on.”

“I heard he was taking photos of students,” Laura added, with a subtle but venomous glance in Peter's direction. As if she thought he might lurk around the high school taking photos in his spare time.

Derek shrugged. “I heard he'd been caught drinking. Anyway, up until today they had us all taking study hall instead of his class because they couldn't find anyone to cover. They got a substitute though... but I don't know if we're actually going to learn much. She doesn't seem like she cares about teaching.”

“I thought she was great,” Laura replied, and flashed a wicked grin. “We spent like half of our lesson talking about how feminism shaped the modern world. It was fantastic. She's such a great talker.”

“Yeah,” Derek gave his sister a look like she'd just proven his point for him, “but it's math.”

“She still gave us homework, we're on track for the syllabus.”

“I wasn't aware there were any issues at the school,” Talia commented, a small frown on her face as she looked back and forth between her two eldest. “There haven't been any announcements sent out to the PTA.”

“I know I said I heard he was taking photos,” Laura said with a sigh, “but in reality it's probably just the flu or something. They would've announced it if Mr Baybridge was actually leaving for good.” She shrugged dismissively, “Ms DeSilva will be here for a week and then he'll be back.”

-

Mr Baybridge did in fact not return to Beacon Hills High. An announcement was circulated via the PTA newsletter that explained his departure from teaching was due to medical reasons. The school wished him well and hoped he would recover quickly, but in the meantime his classes would be taught by a substitute. Specifically, the one they had on hand already. Who would continue to take Mr Baybridge's classes until a permanent replacement could be found.

Peter didn't pay much attention to it past listening to Derek's complaints that Ms DeSilva was going to cause them all to fall behind.

According to Derek the substitute spent way too much time trying to be the 'hip young teacher' and hardly any time actually teaching.

“It's like the school hired a babysitter,” Derek grumbled one day after school. “I mean, that's all she's doing. She's babysitting us until they hire someone else, right? That's fine, I don't care if we have a few classes where everyone just messes around. But it's been _two weeks_. She's not even giving out homework anymore.”

“You sound frighteningly like me at your age. Boo-hoo, the mean lady didn't give me any homework,” Peter said drily, mocking his younger self as much as Derek's seemingly silly complaints.

“You were a nerd, mom told me,” Derek dismissed. “I'm not upset that we're not getting _homework_. It's just that math is a core subject, you need to pass it if you don't want to get held back a grade. She's not giving out homework, we don't get assignments, she doesn't do quizzes – am I going to pass if she's still here when we have to do exams?”

“Hm. You do have a point there.”

“And you'd think they'd have found someone by now or at least be holding interviews,” Derek continued. “Aren't we supposed to have a ton of unemployed teachers right now? Beacon Hills can't get someone to move here for a job?”

Peter's eyebrows raised slightly as he thought. Because yes, that was a point. In his opinion Beacon Hills wasn't anything special, but it also wasn't a horrible place to live. In fact, for some people it might well have been their dream location – a 'small' town by most standards, but with all the amenities you could want. There were schools, shops, a hospital, it had something of a nightlife. The cost of living wasn't ridiculously high like it was in cities or most larger towns.

“I can't imagine there's a conspiracy to keep the position from being filled,” Peter said thoughtfully. “It's far more likely they haven't been advertising correctly. Looking to pull in talent from the local areas rather than country-wide, advertising in the papers and not with an agency. Seems like something the people here would do.”

Derek rolled his eyes, looking every inch the typical pissed-off teenager. Then he sighed and looked at his uncle. “Lets go for a walk by the creek. I want you to kiss me until I forget about math.”

-

_Can I tell you a secret? _

_I'm glad this happened to you. Not to... I hate that everyone else is gone. I hate what I did – I didn't know that – that she was... I'm just glad it was you. That you survived. Like this. And not –_

_You deserve it. Out of everyone, you deserve being burned. Mom, Julie, Camille and the kids... they didn't deserve to die. I'd give anything – anything – to bring them back. I'm so... But you. You deserve this. Because it's people like you that make them hunt us._

_Derek's going to be fine, you know. Without you. He's going to go to therapy – I'll make him go to therapy, just like I will – and we'll be fine. We're going to leave you behind. _

_I won't... I won't put you out of your misery._

_And we'll never come back._

-

During the short periods of lucidity, when the pain faded briefly to nothing more than a dull roar instead of the all-encompassing nightmare of his usual existence, Peter would curse himself for not noticing.

Because now, looking back at everything, it was all so obvious what had happened.

He'd been too wrapped up in his own _happiness_, too confident in the sanctity of _pack _to take Laura's hatred seriously. He hadn't cared enough to notice the warning signs; the new substitute teacher who appeared so conveniently, the school's inability to find anyone else to fill the position – _the sympathetic ear provided by a young, relatable authority figure_.

What was Talia's excuse?

Why hadn't she noticed anything amiss with her eldest daughter? Why hadn't she thought to keep a closer eye on the people responsible for teaching her children. She'd been to a parent-teacher conference with that woman – why hadn't she seen anything was wrong?

Arrogance. The belief in a one-sided truce. Belief in the hunter's code.

Well! Except that darling Laura had conveniently given her hunter teacher the perfect excuse for eradicating the Hale pack. (She'd been fishing. The whole time she must have been fishing. Looking for a reason. Trying to get close to the youngest, most vulnerable members of the pack.) Wolves may understand the incontrovertible nature of a heart-mate bond, but hunters didn't care. Human rules were all that mattered, and a minor being taken advantage of by an older family member was definitively against the law. And hunters only believed in justice by death.

She'd had six months to hook her claws in. Six months to build a plan and modify it using whatever knowledge she could wheedle from Laura during their conversations.

She'd found the tunnels somehow. (_Laura had even told her about the tunnels!_)

She'd made sure they were all home – the hunter had thought they were all home – all exits blocked.

And she'd used fire.

Not even a quick death.

Not even for the children.

Laura hated him and so Camille's children had died. Everyone had died. Everyone except him.

And Derek. Precious irony in after school detention. Though he had to wonder (_dark thoughts_) if Laura had known something was due to happen and kept him away from the house on purpose. Did she think the hunter would single Peter out? Did she think she was sparing her brother the pain of seeing his abuser die?

_Did she think they'd come home to hot chocolate and Talia admitting she was wrong?_

But the joke was on her.

She'd come back and whispered in his ear. Both of them had. Darling Laura and her hunter – _fishing _– teacher. One after the other... or maybe one and then the other months later, it was hard to tell how much time was passing when all he could think was the pain. Hunter first, and then the wolf. Alpha now, of her little pack of two.

The hunter had let slip her name, though he'd figured it out while he was burning (_DeSilva – she hadn't even tried to be subtle_), had told him how their pack had been betrayed. She'd gloated, standing over her 'kill' like she was committing his broken body to her memory, confident that he could do nothing to hurt her.

“I'll be keeping tabs, you know,” she'd whispered, voice low so the nurses couldn't hear, “if you ever heal enough to get up out of this bed... Well, we can have some fun.”

_Fun_.

In those brief moments of lucidity, Peter wondered if he'd find it _fun_ when he ripped her spine out through her throat. Because he would heal – was healing, cell by cell by cell – and he would kill her. (Both of them? No – yes – he didn't know.)

He'd kill her for taking everything away from him – Derek had been taken away from him – for the pain and for the agony of loss.

He'd kill her because _he had to_.

And then – maybe – Laura might steal his memories, might make him forget, convince him to hate (forgetting was worse than hate) – he'd look for Derek.

They could pick up where they left off. Heal together. Live for one another. Remember, and dream, and love together.

They could go to Spain.

-

_You're my little miracle baby. Yes you are. Yes you are. My sweet little Peter rabbit, that's what you are. My little ray of sunshine. You look just like your daddy... Look, David, doesn't he look just like you?_

_You're going to be such a happy child, I just know it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm already in the process of writing another story in this universe (this time from Derek's point of view) in which certain events from Season One will play out and certain events will not. Unlike this one, I'm aiming for a (relatively) happy ending. So if you liked this fic, even if you hated the ending, there's more coming.
> 
> It might just take a few weeks, as I have much less time than I'd like.


End file.
